Canid
by Mad Scientist Sidekick
Summary: AU after Episode 14 of AOS ("Yes Men"). Coulson is ready to confront Director Fury about what he found in the Guest House, but first he'll have to hunt down a mysterious, deadly creature that's rampaging across the northwestern United States. It seems insane, but is it possible this case is connected to Fenrir Lokison? And why does the monster seem to have it in for Coulson?
1. Prologue

Canid

Prologue

Coulson

"Don't let Skye and Fitz in here," I suggest as I kneel over the body. Or rather … what's left of the body. It looks like confronting Fury is in on the back burner once again.

"I'll keep that in mind," Simmons says. She looks as though she's having trouble keeping down her lunch herself.

"It looks … chewed," Ward says hesitantly as he looks at the severed arm.

"By … something big," Simmons says, looking at the size of the teeth marks.

"That's why we're here. There was at least one alien creature loose on Earth after the convergence event – it's possible there's more than one that laid low for a while," I say. London authorities had caught a Jotunheim ice troll snacking on some unfortunate homeless people just a few days after the convergence and put it down. "Thor mentioned something called a bilgesnipe … this might be it."  
"I don't know … is bilgesnipe Asgardian for 'huge wolf?' Because that's what this looks like," Ward says.

"I don't know … Thor said they had antlers," I say absently. I remember that conversation so vividly … it was only a day before … "He didn't say whether they were carnivorous or not. Sometimes herbivores can just … trample everything. All he said was they were destructive." I look up at the open half of the trailer – the double wide has been torn right open. Maybe it was a giant bear – the claw marks made it look like the work of a bear. Or who knows what kind of crazy wildlife could be found out there in the wide, wide galaxy? What makes Ward say wolf? Wolves get the short end of the stick, don't they?

A few minutes later, I'm glad I didn't decide to voice that thought – because the prints we find in the mud behind the trailer are definitely made by a wolf – one with paws so big, a small child could have curled up in the footprint. It's going to be a wild chase.

* * *

**Author's Note:  
**Heads up – the first chapter is going to be first person Sif, then the next few chapters are going to be first person from Fenrir and then I'll go back to Coulson when we get back to Earth. This is AU after "Yes Men," but will still be influenced by subsequent episodes/ the events of _Winter Soldier_. ESPECIALLY the events of _Winter Soldier_.

Cover Image Credit: Linda Maria Ansen of deviantart. (Used by permission.) Link: art/Loki-and-Fenrir-336074734


	2. Chapter 1: Retrieval (Sif)

Chapter 1

Retrieval

Sif

**Author's Note: **So yes I'm writing Fen as a Woobie Destroyer of Worlds. Sue me. I kind of take the _I am Mordred _approach there (if you haven't read that book, find it and read it immediately) – if you treat kids like they're going to be evil when they grow up, it's going to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Also I realized I give no indication of time in the text so we're flashing back about a hundred years from the present at this point. I'll give a more detailed explanation of the timeline in the next chapter where it's more relevant.

* * *

I don't balk at these duties – I know I am given the lowest, the most thankless tasks, because I am a young warrior, and a woman besides. My task today is simple – to slip unnoticed into the dwarf realm to retrieve Loki's bastard son, already given a hard lot in life with a mixed heritage and a curse that makes him appear as a wolf, and never speak a word of it to anyone, thereby preventing scandal at home and abroad. I won't have the guidance of my brother, as I usually do, since I am taking the same pathway between worlds that Loki took to see his exiled Jotun mistress. I have two maps from Loki, forbidden by the Allfather from retrieving the boy himself, and an amulet she gave him which should, theoretically, get me past any protection spells she had in place. I jokingly told Heimdall that Sigyn should come with me – she knows magic so well, and I only know a few spells, and she is so much better with children and animals. But of course, she is no warrior – she would not know what to do if she got caught. Then again, it'd be much easier for her to claim innocence, should she be caught – I'm a warrior traveling unannounced into another realm. There is little to excuse my presence.

I go and speak to my brother before I am to make the journey – he won't be opening the gate for me but, even so, he has news that may help me.

"I see the boy – his mother must have been prepared for the worst to come to worst. He has food for a few days still, and he is warm and safe. The townspeople search for him, but they cannot find him. You may only have a few moments once you break the seal before you are found."  
"I understand."  
"There's something else – there's an egg the boy guards. His affection towards it is brotherly."  
"Loki's as well?" I ask, annoyed. He needs to learn to keep his sword sheathed.

"I cannot say." Not that it matters – if there's even a small chance it's sapient, I'm not going to leave it to perish.

"Where's the boy?" I ask.

"Beneath the house – where's the map Loki gave you?" I take the parchment from my sleeve and unfold it.

"There is a trap door hidden beneath a charred rug, here," he says, and points it out to me.

"Thank you brother. Is there anything else you can tell me?"  
"Only to be careful."

"Thank you for that, brother," I say, annoyed. He treats me as though I'm still a child, but I suppose that is natural for eldest brothers.

It's the time of my departure, and I go over Loki's instructions in my head over and over though they're written down for me as well. I need to be swift and silent, and can't allow myself to forget that the fate of a young boy (perhaps two young children) is in my hands. I crawl through the rock tunnel, knowing it leads to a weak point in the wall between realms, and swallow down any fear that comes from being in such a confined space. I am a shield maiden – fearless and strong.

After almost an hour crawling on hands and knees, I emerge in another world – but the woods look like the ones at home. I follow the first map – the map of the woods – to the little stone cabin. The acrid smell of burnt flesh still clings to the air – how it must torment the little one, with his wolfen sense of smell.

I survey the area – I see no signs of anyone in the area and sneak inside – the door must have been wooden because it was burned away. Once inside, I looked around and oriented myself to the map Loki had given me. Even after the fire, I recognize the remains of shelves full of books and charms – no wonder Loki liked her. Sigyn would probably be walking around mourning the loss of knowledge – it even hurts my warrior heart to see. But I don't have time to dwell on it – I head towards the spot where the trap door is hidden, but even when I pull the rug back, I see nothing. I know that the spell was not passively broken just by the presence of the amulet and I take a deep breath and remember the incantations I was supposed to recite – I was never good at magic, and I'm afraid it won't work. Sure enough, it takes me a couple of tries before I see the iron ring and the gap in the floorboards – I quickly take the ring and pull it open, and see a narrow stone stairwell below me. I start to climb down and close the door behind me – if angry villagers come looking for the boy, there's no sense in making it especially obvious where we are.

Almost as soon as I shut the door, the boy is upon me – he sinks his teeth into my ankle. Or rather, tries – his tiny teeth have no hope of penetrating my leather armor. It must hurt, but he doesn't shrink back in pain or give up, only tries harder. I hear a tiny, squeaky voice in my head, punctuated with little growling sounds that would sound more intimidating if they weren't so high pitched. _Leave! No hurt me and Jorg! _He is a tiny cub – I could carry him by cupping my hands. _I rip you apart!_ He has silver and gray fur (and there is a lot of fur) like any wolf – the only thing that sticks out about him is he has beautiful blue eyes. Loki's eyes. The effect of seeing an Aesir's eyes set in an animal face is deeply unsettling – it will take getting used to. "Little one – little one – Fenrir – I am not here to hurt you," I say quickly. At the sound of his name, he ceases his attempts to bite me. "I am Lady Sif. I'm a friend of your father," I say. A little white lie won't hurt.

_My father? _He asks, and looks up at me with his head cocked to one side.

"Loki. You met him once – he is an Aesir like me with dark hair …"  
_He play with Mother in bed. _Oh dear Odin … _I climb up and kiss him. He think I puppy. He angry when Mother say I son._

Judging by his adorably broken speech he's not very old – but he can speak, which makes him older than I thought he must be.

"Yes – I'm here to take you to him so he can take care of you. Where is your brother?" He trots down the stairs and I follow into a cramped basement. There's dried meat in the corner, which I assume is how the boy has survived thus far. Judging by his fat tummy, he's been eating pretty recently – if he's like any child or dog, he's been eating as much as he can stand each day, and would have run out soon but I assume by then he would have put on enough weight to survive for several weeks. I wonder how long his mother was afraid he might be here alone if something happened to her. Fenrir trots to the opposite corner, where an egg is sitting. I follow him and kneel to pick it up. The area immediately around the egg is very warm, much warmer than the rest of the room – I assume this is also courtesy of magic. I reach for the egg and Fenrir snaps at my hand.

_No! He stay must warm!_

"Fenrir – it is not safe for either of you to remain here," I say impatiently. "The people who … The people who took your mother away will return for you." I pull the blankets from my pack – I had meant to wrap him up, and I spare one for that purpose. "Here. We'll wrap him up and put him in my pack, and then set you on top, and the blankets and the warmth of our bodies should keep him warm for the journey home. The boy nods, and I quickly wrap the egg – surprisingly tender, and leathery instead of hard – in several blankets and place it as gently as I can in my pack. While I do, Fenrir runs to the corner with the meat and grabs a big leg of something.

"Fenrir – there will more fresh meat than you've ever imagined at the palace. Leave that here."

_Waste bad._

"Once we leave someone will find it and eat it," I say impatiently as he begins eating and stride over to scoop him up. He yips in protest. "Hush," I say harshly and wrap him in the last blanket and set him in my bag as well. "Not a word, not a sound until I tell you, do you understand?"  
_Yes._

I listen at the door a long time before I open it – I'm pleased the boy doesn't protest impatiently. When I am certain no one is here, I open the trap door once more and make my way to the door, where I stay out of sight and listen yet again. Indeed, I hear no one – they must have given up their search for him, probably assuming he would starve in time. I feel the boy start to shake – even with his abundance of fur and the blanket, it is very cold out here compared to in the basement. I hope that's not obvious if I do encounter anyone – I feel bad for the poor child and worry about the other one.

It seems to take twice as long to walk back through the woods to the passageway as it did to get there – not least of all because tiny Fenrir's shivering gets more and more severe. When at last I get there, I struggle to remember the incantation to open the doorway._ Will I die? _The boy asks.

"You have your father's flair for the dramatic," I say chidingly. He's not shivering _that _badly. And as soon as my mind wanders to speaking to him, I can remember – I open the door and duck down to step inside. It's much warmer, almost unpleasantly so, in the tunnel. Even so, I take the cub out of my bag and open my cloak to place him directly against my chest and wrap him up for a little while.

_No don't stop! We have to get somewhere warmer for Jorg! _He protests, and wiggles from my arms and hurries down the tunnel. I resituate the bag and follow as quickly as I can.

"Fenrir! Do not go so far ahead! I am not as fast as you on all fours!" He circles back, and very much to my surprise goes right up to me and stands on hind paws to "kiss" me on the chin, and then runs back ahead a little. It surprises me so much I laugh a little. He does that for quite a while – he runs a little ways ahead and then back to me, sometimes giving me a kiss and sometimes not. He never says anything when he does – I suppose those words have yet to be learned. Then he starts to grow tired, and progresses quite rapidly from just walking in the tunnel to collapsing in a furry little heap at my feet. I sigh and wrap him back in the blanket and carry him the rest of the way home. He sleeps until we're almost there – then he wakes up and begins to whine inconsolably about how we're never going to get there, no matter how many times I tell him we're close. I'd swat his nose if I wasn't afraid to strike a prince.

I emerge from the tunnel to find Loki pacing anxiously, and Thor sitting on a nearby rock watching his brother pace. Their duties must be ended for the day. As soon as he sees me Loki hurries to my side to help me stand up – I extend my hand and he lifts me up. "Did you …" he starts anxiously, but the whimpers and pathetic howls from the bag are enough of an answer. I undo the clasps on the bag and Loki lifts him out carefully – still wrapped in the yellow blanket and crying. Tears stream down his snout – I didn't think wolves cried. Actually, I assume they don't … except this one. _Father?_

"Yes, yes I am," Loki says softly, holding the boy against his chest. The boy's long pink tongue reaches up to give him several kisses.

"Oh Loki, he's adorable. He has your nose," Thor says teasingly, then deftly dodges a backhanded swat from Loki.

"His eyes as well," I say. "He is also a valiant little child with a warrior's soul – that must have skipped you." He doesn't even bat an eye at my insult – he's too busy examining his child, staring into his eyes the way most new fathers do. "There's another, an egg," I say, getting to the point. "And we must keep him warm – Fenrir was most upset with me for taking him from a magical warm spot."

"Another child?" Loki asks, with wide eyes like a deer that's just caught the scent of a hunter.

"Yes – conceived when you 'played' with the boy's mother I assume," I say coldly, and watch his cheeks and ears turn red. I didn't think he knew how to blush. Thor has to put a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. "Do you think you can undo the curse on them?" I ask, more gently, because I almost regret making that comment. Almost.

"I … I'm sure I can," he says unevenly, and strokes the boy's fur. The boy gives a tiny yawn, but fights sleep. His eyes are only half-closed.

"Even if you can't – will it be so bad?" Thor asks, smiling at the tiny cub in his brother's arms. Loki and I both stare at him – we have no words to say to that. What kind of horrible life would this child lead, with the mind of a boy and the body of a wolf? Realizing he's said something wrong, Thor clears his throat. "I'm sure it will be no challenge for you to lift this enchantment, Loki."

"Well if you can't, surely someone will," I say, knowing that will hurt his pride but once again not caring. Someone has to know what's wrong with the children – I don't want to imagine what will happen to them if no one can fix it.


	3. Chapter 2: Just a Boy (Fenrir)

Chapter 2

Just a Boy

Fenrir

The first thing I ever remember as a baby is Father and Grandfather fighting. I don't remember what they fought about, but we were at supper together in our family's private dining hall, and Grandfather and Father were yelling at each other. Grandfather got so mad he couldn't even speak real words and he made a growly sound at Father. They were my two of my favorite people, but Father edged out Grandfather in that regard so I stood between them at their feet and growled back at Grandfather, showing my teeth and raising my fur. I guess I was still little enough for it to be cute instead of frightening. "Fen, no!" Father said quickly, horrified, and scooped me up in his arms, but to everyone's surprise, Grandfather laughed, and then everyone else did too.

"Forgive me little wolf," Grandfather said kindly and patted me on the head. "I should not chide your father so in front of you."

_Or growl at him, _I said sternly, which only led to more laughter from everyone there.

"You can't fault his spirit, Father," Uncle Thor said as he picked me up from Father's arms and scratched my ears, to a withering glare from Father. Father hates it when Uncle Thor treats me like a dog, but I don't mind.

"No – I cannot," Grandfather said jovially and Uncle Thor set me down on the floor to run around and play some more.

* * *

I am thirty-years-old – not a baby anymore.

Jorg is my brother – a tiny scaly thing I love to play with. He wraps around my paws and squeezes – not tight enough to hurt – and I lick his scales. Sometimes I chew him a little and he gets mad and twists away – Father tells me to stop hurting him. But I don't hurt him … I don't bite hard. I know not to bite Father – his skin is too soft. But Jorg has scales. Not bare skin. I don't know why he's such a baby.

My fur protects me when the dogs bite – mostly. They bite hard. They never speak and I don't know why. I try to be friends with them and they raise their fur and bite me hard – Father rushes in to pull me away. "Fen – you know better," he scolds me. I don't understand why they don't like me.

Father says I can't talk to the other children – he says I'll frighten them. I don't understand. He got mad at Uncle Thor when Uncle Thor threw a stick and I brought it back to him – it made us both happy. I don't understand why it was a bad thing for Uncle Thor to do.

I make my voice sound like Father's – I like his voice so much. Uncle Thor laughs and says I should try a voice more like the children – so I do. I know Father likes it better when I act like the other boys, so I watch what they do – I see how they greet their parents and play with each other, and I imitate it as best as I can. When Father comes home, I stand on my hind paws to put my front paws over his shoulders to embrace him. Whenever I'm happy, I give my biggest smile. Father tells me he likes that – Uncle Thor tells me it looks like I'm just baring all my teeth and I shouldn't do it if I don't like it. I try to walk on hind legs but that is hard to do, and I bump my head on the ceiling and fall over a lot. "Fenrir, stop that," Father scolds when I do.

_But why Father? You say I should act like the other children._

"Within reason, Fen – you don't have two legs yet," he says and hugs me around the neck. He always says "yet" – I'm not a boy like the others yet, I can't play with the others yet, I can't speak through my mouth yet … Everything is yet. I've asked him but he won't tell me when I'll be a boy like the others. That's so mean – I want to know. Being a boy sounds so much nicer than being a wolf.

Unless I have a nightmare, Jorg and I sleep on our own beds – sometimes the servants talk about how spoiled the "prince's pets" are and it's hard not to talk back to them. I just sulk and try not to listen – I don't think Jorg understands them.

I want to be like Jorg – Jorg doesn't care. He speaks to me and sometimes to Father, but never to anyone else. His voice is snakey and he doesn't try to act like the other boys – not that he could do much. He doesn't have arms or legs.

No. I don't want to be like Jorg. I don't want to stop caring. I want to be a boy.

* * *

Today everyone is sad – I smell the tears and the sorrow in the air. _Why is everyone sad, Father?_ I ask him.

"The warriors have returned today, Fen, and there are many missing or dead from their ranks."

_Are they with my sister? _I ask.

"No, Fen, they're in Valhalla now." Hela is my big sister … and my little sister … and … I don't know. I don't understand the story. Something about Ragnorak and times before and … I try to make sense of it and my head hurts. The important part is that she's the queen of the dead – she rules Hel and Niffelheim and everyone goes to her eventually, unless they die in battle or childbirth so they go to Valhalla, which is what must have happened.

_Are their wives sad because they'll never see them again?_ I ask. I'd hate for Father or Uncle Thor to go to Valhalla … I don't think I can reach them there.

"Yes, Fen. But they're also honored because …"  
_Promise you won't go to Valhalla, Father. I won't be able to find you again. _

"Fen …"  
_Promise me!_

"No one knows the future, Fen … I won't make a promise I might not be able to keep. I will promise that I won't seek out such a fate needlessly," he answers. I'm disappointed but I try not to sulk. He ruffles my fur and leans down to kiss the top of my head. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself Fen – your Father's still a young man."  
_But weren't some of them too?_

He doesn't answer that.

They light the funeral pyres all at once – I look down from my room. Since everyone thinks I'm just a dog, I can't go. I don't know why I can't just talk to them … I could tell everyone I'm not a dog. (People are fools anyway … I'm clearly a wolf.) But every time I try to talk to someone outside the family Father does something to stop me and yells at me afterwards.

The smoke rises and the smell reaches my nostrils and … it smells good … spittle drips from my mouth and …

The smell makes me hungry. I get angry at myself as soon as I realize this – I'm ashamed. People don't eat people. Even when they're dead. I manage to shut the window with my nose and crawl into my bed, burying my face under the pillow and trying desperately to escape the delicious smell. _Are you asssssshamed, Fenrir? _Jorg asks in his snakey voice.

_Silence!_

_Why sssssshould you be asssssshamed of your true nature, brother? Wolves eat the flesh of all creatures … even their own in death …_

_I'm not a true wolf. I'm an Aesir._

_Jotun, you mean._

_Half of each._

_You really are blind, aren't you Fenrir?_

_Silence! _I run from my bed and crash through the bedroom door – Father will be angry when he saw I broke it again but I can't stay with Jorg or the smell. The smell is worse in the common areas and Father's bedroom, so I crash through the front door too, out into the halls where it's even worse.

I find a royal bathroom where there are soaps and oils, and I try to pour them out gracefully but I don't have hands, I have paws. So I just spill a lot and break a few jars. The scents are clashing and often awful together, but I roll in them and drown the scent of the burning flesh. I almost leave, but what will I do? Go and sit in Father's chambers and wait awkwardly for him to return and see the mess I've made? I lay in the basin, which at the moment has no water but a good amount of oil, and wait.

When is yet?

Father finds me some hours later – I cringe away from him because the scent clings to his clothes, his hair, his skin … Skin … flesh … "Fen? What are you doing?" he asks, and he tries to sound stern but he almost laughs. He doesn't mind that I made a mess – he must not have been to his chambers yet. A servant probably told him I was here.

_I … I …_

"Is it true I need to replace the doors again?" he asks, and he does manage to sound sterner on that note.

_I'm sorry. I just … the scent from the pyres … I had to drown it out … It made me … _He pulls me into an embrace, ignoring the oil smeared all over my fur.

"Oh Fen – I hadn't thought. That smell is awful for everyone … I can imagine how unbearable it was for you."

_Yes, unbearable_. I don't tell him why – but I let some tears fall and hope I've stopped drooling.

"It's all right. I'll wash up and we'll just clean up this mess … Then we can go home."

_But I can still … _

"We'll … borrow some of the soap." I know what he means by borrow and I almost laugh. I love him so much … he even steals for me._  
_

He makes it sound so easy, but the smell of burning flesh lingers for days. I spend most of those days with my face buried in the soap father took for me.

Three days after the burning, with the scent still lingering terribly in the air, I have a nightmare that Father has died and gone to Valhalla and I can't find him. I wake up panting and with my heart racing, and I tumble out of bed and run to Father's room, hoping that he's alone tonight. I don't smell a maiden, so I assume he is. (I have no idea what he does with them all night, but it doesn't smell right.) I knock on the door with my paw, hard and fast but not hard enough to dent it. Father opens the door and I hop up, putting my paws on his shoulder and resting my head on his chest. "Fen, did you have a bad dream?" he asks gently. I nod, and he pats my back. He doesn't ask for anything when I don't elaborate. "It's all right … you can sleep with me tonight, if you wish." I nod again, and he goes back to the bed and I climb in and curl up on the far side of the bed – Father rests beside me and puts his arm over my side.

I'm still scared so I can't go back to sleep yet. My mind races, and I try to think of something else.

_Father … do I have an older brother? _His arm tightens around me and I know I've asked the wrong thing. _Why are you upset? Did he die? _I ask worriedly.

"You're my eldest son, Fen," he says sharply.

_Okay … I just heard someone say that I have a horse brother and …_

"You don't. That is just an ugly rumor."  
_Why is it ugly? Is being a horse worse than being a wolf?_

"Fen … hush and go to sleep," he says, and I can tell he's about to lose his temper so I just close my eyes and try to sleep.

* * *

Seven days after the burning, we have a feast – a memorial feast. It seems that all of Asgard is here. _Will there be any other children like me? _I ask as we head down.

"No, Fen, you and your brother are … in a unique situation."  
_So how do you know we'll be real boys?_

He doesn't answer that. Uncle Thor meets us halfway – I jump up and "embrace" him the way I've learned.

"Hello nephew," he says, too loudly for Father's liking, and kisses me on the nose. "You seem quite jovial today."  
_It's a feast! _I answer as I drop back down to all fours, and that makes him laugh.

I stay close by Father's side as he attends his royal duties. He greets various people and when he bows, I do as well. I lower my front legs and bring my head low to the ground – it seems to delight some and just baffle others. "That's a nice trick, boy," a woman says and pats my head. Because she thinks I'm a dog. I wonder if I should smile – I glance at Uncle Thor and he shakes his head no so I don't. I didn't feel like it anyway. When I'm happy my tail wags – and it wags a lot today.

The feasting begins in earnest – if Father had his way I'd have a place at the royal table, but since everyone thinks I'm just a wolf (or the foolish ones think I'm a dog) I have to just play at the edges of the feast and under the table. "It's all right, nephew – we'll save you a plate of food. I'll slip you some wine and ale if your father isn't looking," Uncle Thor whispers in my ear.

"You will not give my son ale or wine, Thor," Father says sharply. "He's just a boy." I know Thor will slip me just a little bit – just enough to get the taste.

When things have really begun, I play under the tables looking for scraps. The children give them to me happily – they pat my head and I lick their hands. Father would be mad at me if he saw that – but I like to lick. Skin feels good on my tongue, and sometimes I taste the food they've been eating.

There are dogs but I always stay far away from them – some of them smell me and their hackles go up so I hurry away quickly, walking backwards with my head bowed in the way I've seen other dogs do when they're trying to be submissive.

The talking seems to go on forever but I don't mind because I can keep snacking. I'll be very full by the time I finish the plate of food Father and Thor will save for me as well – I'll be happy. Happy happy happy.

I find Sigyn – she's my favorite person besides Father and Uncle Thor and Grandfather and Grandmother. Even better, she's with Sif, who is my other favorite person besides Father and Uncle Thor and Grandfather and Grandmother. I have a lot of favorite people – I guess I'm lucky that way. "Hello Fenrir," Sigyn whispers to me when she sees me begging by her table. I turn to her and beg more. "Now don't do that – I know your … I know Loki's saving something for you already," she says and scratches my ears. My tail wags extra hard – she almost called him my father. She's a healer-in-training, and not only that but one of Grandmother's students, so she's immensely smart. We never exactly told her, but she got really close to figuring it out on her own so we just stopped keeping it a secret from her. I think she helps Father look for ways to make me a real boy. Sif knows too – Uncle Thor says she's the one who brought me home, all wrapped up in a fuzzy yellow blanket. He says I was really cute and I cried the whole time until Father held me – I get annoyed when he tells that story.

The feast goes on longer than I thought, well into the night, and I fall asleep, already full and happy, at Sigyn's feet. She's talking about magic to the other students – I try to listen but I don't understand most of it. I feel arms under me and wake up just a little bit. "Oh no, Loki, he's much too big for you to carry …"

"He's just a … he's still young enough for me to carry. I would ask you not to take that joy from me, Sigyn," Father says, and I keep my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. I love it when he carries me. Even though I'm sure it's quite a sight, considering I'm as long now as he is tall.

I stay pretending to be asleep until we go all the way back to our chambers – he tucks me in to bed and tells me good night. It only occurs to me after that I should have just been honest – now I won't get my food.

I wake up the next morning and Jorg is angry – I smell his anger right away. He's in the bed with me, raised up over my face like he's thinking about striking.

_What's wrong Jorg?_

_You. _

_What did I do?  
_

_You sssssstink of Aessssssssir and Vanir when you come back from these feasssssts – you disssssssgust me._

_Aesir and Vanir don't stink … _Especially not Vanir. They smell wonderful. Sigyn is a Vanir.

_That'ssssssss why you disssssgust me. _

_Why?  
_

_You … you try sssssso hard … _

_Father tells us to try …_

_And you are hisssss perfect little boy, aren't you? Don't you know we're prissssonersssss here?_

I don't like his tone. I roll over and try to twist away from him. _If you don't like my smell, stay away from me._

He crawls away to the plate Father and Uncle Thor left for us – by now it's cold but it will still be good. I make really sure to let Jorg eat all he wants – he swallows a whole chicken and nothing else, like always, but I wait just to be sure – before I head over to get something to eat.

I'm nervous when Father leaves – he and Sigyn are going on some kind of expedition soon. People talk about them. I wish they were right – I'd like her to live with us. _Do you have to go today, Father?_

"What's wrong, Fen?"  
_Nothing … just … I want to … we had such a good day yesterday and …_

"I'll be back soon, Fen – don't fret," he says, but he doesn't sound entirely convinced.

_Can you leave my bedroom door open today, Father?_ He looks over to Jorg suspiciously, then agrees.

I wait in the common areas for a long time – then I start to feel bad. Did I do something to make Jorg mad at me?

I worry about it a little while longer – I try to read some of Father's books. He seems amused when he comes home and finds me trying to read – he's taught me a little bit, but I can't read his complicated magic books or his history books (he assures me the latter are dull anyway). But the more I wait, the more I wonder if it was my fault. I did leave him all alone to have fun. He's probably just jealous. I mean … I get to see people. He almost never does – because he doesn't mind very well. And many people fear serpents – a lot more than fear wolves. And like me he seems to be growing fast and the bigger he gets, the more even people who aren't afraid of snakes will be afraid of him, since they don't know he's a boy … Which nobody can for …

Reasons I still don't understand.

_Jorg? _I call. No answer. I make my way back to the bedroom. His tummy is all big from the chicken – he usually doesn't want to play after he eats, but I might as well ask. _Do you want to play?_

_Go away, Jotun. _

_We're both half-Aesir half-Jotun._

_Go away._

I step forward and playfully try to drag him out of bed.

_Go away, Fenrir._

_I just want to play!_

I tug him out of his bed and catch him on my paws – I roll over on my back and toss him up.

_Unhand me! _He shrieks.

_Don't you mean "Unpaw me?" _I ask playfully. He was just teasing me for being … not wolf enough. Maybe he'll like that I joke about my paws. I catch him and bring him to my mouth to give him a love bite … not too hard but he has scales so it can't hurt too much …

I feel his fangs dig into my right shoulder. He's bitten me before … but this time there's a burning sensation. Unlike most snakes he can control his poison – I still remember how afraid Father was the first time …

My whole shoulder burns and then goes numb, and I know I've been poisoned.

_I'm sorry Jorg … I guess that hurt more than I meant …_

I drop him and stumble away to my bed. I don't want to tell Father what happened … I don't want to admit I bit him again. Or that I bothered him after he ate, which I'm not supposed to do either. I don't want Jorg to be in trouble either. Maybe he only poisoned me a little.

I manage to climb into my bed even though my leg is burning too and I am feeling dizzy and sick to my stomach. I try to sleep but I can't because of the pain. I whimper and whine, but I know no one will hear me, so I decide to save my breath. Maybe if I save my energy I can get better.

I throw up once or twice … I wasn't strong enough to get out of bed and I'm sorry for making a mess.

The numbness is all the way down to my paw and spreading all over my right side – by now my neck and my rump on that side are burning and I know the numbness will follow. I just hope it stops. My head is really fuzzy … I start thinking funny things. Wouldn't it be fun if pigs could fly? You'd have to chase your pork. I wish plants could talk. Maybe I want to be a plant, not a boy. No. I'm glad plants can't talk … then you couldn't eat them.

I hear the door open and my head clears a little – it's too soon to be Father – I think it's one of the servants until I hear Uncle Thor's voice. "Fen – your father said you were lonely today, and I can miss training today," he calls. I try not to answer – I don't want to be in trouble, I don't want Jorg to be in trouble … "Fen? Did you get out again, you naughty boy?" he calls teasingly. One time I snuck out the window with Jorg around my neck and we played in all around the city until Thor found us, and then we had a big adventure getting back in the chambers before Father found out.

_No … I'm … I'm sick … _I call weakly to him, trying to think of a lie.

"Should I bring a healer?" he asks through the door, and he looks very concerned at the sight of me, and the mess I've made already. I'm deliberately laying on my right shoulder so he can't see the wound. It hurts but I manage.  
_No!_

"Fen … why are you laying like that?" Thor demands, and steps closer.

_It's nothing! _He lifts me gently, and sets me back down as soon as he sees the wound.

"Jorgumunder, did you poison your brother?" Thor demands, and I almost laugh. He already knows the answer to that. And then I remember about the flying pigs and I really do laugh. Thor lifts me off my bed and I almost throw up again … but I think I got everything out of my stomach already. "Do you know what you've done?"

_He bit me firssssst. _I think it's the first time Jorg has spoken to Uncle Thor.

_Tattle-tale!_

"That was not wise, Fen," Thor says but he doesn't sound angry. "Can you walk?" I shake my head.

_Father carried him by himsssssself, golden one … are you weaker? _Jorg taunts. Thor ignores him, and carries me out of the room. I close my eyes to try to help the dizziness.

I hear something being thrown aside and Thor lays me on a table – it's hard and cold. "Sigyn please – you have to help him," Thor pleads.  
"I'm … I'm only a junior healer, I can't …"  
"You're the only one who knows who he is – you know my father's decree about his nature …" Is that why it's a secret? I always thought it was _my _father who didn't want people to know.

"Help me, then," she says nervously.

"Someone has to get Loki …"  
"Go – he'll be more help. No offense was meant by that, Prince …" I laugh because the way she caught herself there was funny. She should marry Father so she'll be a princess and then it will be okay to offend Uncle Thor. I don't think he minds anyway.

Then I manage to throw up bile … and nothing is funny anymore.

I smell Father before he even gets in the room – he's very afraid. Of Jorg? He puts his hands under my head. "Fen – Fen you knew better."

_I'm sorry._

"I'm … I'm not angry, Fen."  
_I could tell from your voice. I'm still sorry._

I come in and out of sleep – I hate being awake because the poison hurts and the things Father and Sigyn are doing to me hurt. Sigyn is trying to be calm – for me – but sometimes her voice goes really high-pitched and she gets short with her instructions to Father. Father does an even worse job of pretending to be calm – I can smell his tears and his voice is uneven. I try to be good and quiet but I howl and whine – I can't help it. Uncle Thor stays and does what he can. Mostly he cradles my head and tries to reassure me it's going to be fine, in a steady, even voice and his hands don't shake as he holds me. He does a better job of pretending he knows I'm going to be fine than Sigyn and Father … I'd believe him if I didn't smell his tears too.

I like being asleep because I have really good dreams. I'm in this huge, open place and I'm … huge and open, in a realm of shadows and snow. For just a second … then I'm in the city and I … I'm a real boy!

I run on two legs and nobody is afraid of me. I smile and it feels good and natural … like wagging my tail only better because I'm a real boy!

Waking up is the worst – I feel like I'm being forced through a hole back into my tiny body and then the pain hits. At some point, Sigyn says they've done all they can do and they can only wait.

Finally, I stop having the good dreams – there's only pain for a little while, until I get so used to it I can sleep. I don't have any more dreams.

I wake up back in my bed. Father is in a chair by my bed, waiting for me. He's fallen asleep, and I don't want to wake him up so I close my eyes to try to go back to sleep, but I can't get comfortable so I roll over …

Jorg's bed is gone. _Why is Jorg's bed gone?_ I ask without thinking, and Father starts awake, despite the fact I asked quietly.

"Fen! You're awake!" he says, relieved, and wraps his arms around me.

_Why is Jorg's bed gone?_ I repeat.

"Don't worry, Fen," he says after a while. "It's … you're safe now."  
_But why is Jorg's bed gone?_ I ask for the third time.

"I … Your grandfather … We decided that it would be safer for you and … everyone … if … if your brother stayed somewhere else for a while."

_Where?_  
"Midgard … somewhere in the wilds where he won't come across anyone …"

_But he's just a baby!_

"He'll be safe, Fen."

Tears sting my eyes, and I feel ashamed. _But … it was my fault … I knew better …_

"No it wasn't … Fen … it was my fault that I didn't see what …" He stops himself, which is frustrating because I don't understand. Tears fall out of my eyes.

"You know, Fen … wolves don't cry – only people cry," Father says as he brushes the tears from my eyes. "You're more of a boy than you know."

_Wolves don't cry?! _I ask, incredulous.

"No they don't. They express sorrow in other ways … tears and laughter belong only to man."Jorg and I both have Father's eyes … that must be why.

_But … when you find out how to make us real boys … how will you find Jorg?_

"Have some faith in your Father's magic, little one," he says, and pretends to be offended, but I can tell he's not.

"Besides, Heimdall could probably tell us exactly where to look," Uncle Thor says from the door. He's usually not quiet – I knew he was in the chambers because I could smell him, but I'm impressed he managed to walk to my door so quietly.

"Yes well … that too," Father says, and now he does seem a little genuinely offended. I laugh, and then stop myself.

_Father, Uncle Thor … why doesn't Grandfather want anyone to know about me? _

Thor comes to sit by me on the bed.

"Fen … I think you're old enough to know …"  
"Know what, Thor?" Father cuts in sharply, and I listen, confused.

"Loki, he'll have to know where he came from some day …"  
"Not tonight, Thor, he's just a boy," Father says, and I guess that's the end of it because Thor sighs and ruffles my fur but doesn't say anything else.

Maybe by the time I'm old enough to know, I'll be a real boy.

**Author's Note **

Once again I have a story that requires a super long Author's note. The other chapters will have none or a very brief one.

This whole story is generated from a WMG on tvtropes. I will give credit where it's due when it's time but if I posted it right now it would offer too many spoilers. The WMG in question is highly unlikely, perhaps even impossible, and I don't even think it was posted in seriousness. But for some reason it stuck with me, and so … here's this story.

You've probably heard the Asgardian linear aging theory based on Loki's comment that Aesir live about 5000 years in Thor 2. Since Loki is somewhere between 1100 and 1200 years old, that makes him between seventeen and nineteen. Obviously that would make Tom Hiddleston far too old for the part but Hollywood is no stranger to casting adults as teenagers, and Thor and Loki do act sort of … teenagery. However my usual inclination is to assume it's a more complex relation to human aging … that they start out aging faster (only two or three years to a single human year) and then it slows down until it takes like two hundred years for an Asgardian to age as much as a human does in one year. However, for the sake of simplicity, I'm going to go with the more simple theory for this story, so that it takes 62.5 years for an Asgardian to age as much as a human does in 1 year (which means that Asgardian women are pregnant for forty-seven years … yikes). Further than that, I'm going to assume that wolves have comparable ages to dogs, and that Asgardian giant wolves have the same proportional relationship to Aesir that normal wolves have to humans. You've probably heard that one human year is equal to seven dog years. This works as a rough approximation, but it's more accurate to assume the first two years of a puppy's life are equal to twenty human years and then every year after that counts for 2.? human years (apologies for not remembering the exact formula, we won't need it for this story). So in one hundred twenty-five years, Fen will be as mature physically and mentally as a twenty-year-old human or a one thousand two-hundred fifty year old Aesir. So at thirty he's about four and a half years old in human years, but speaks a little better and can read a little bit because … well … he's had a lot more time to learn than a human child of that age. But … yeah no impulse control.

And yes this does basically make this kind of an MTV reality show with a fantasy edge. Like most things in this story, that will get very dark rather soon.

The mention of Hela goes back to the official Marvel Universe explanation for Hela in comics. Unlike some inaccurate depictions, Ragnorak isn't actually the end of all things – there is an element of rebirth in it. The Marvel interpretation is that it's cyclical and they've all lived through everything at least once before … which neatly explains differences between mythology and Marvel canon as well as how the ancient Norseman knew about characters such as Loki's younger children centuries before they were born and Thor marrying Sif and such. And yes I know that in official Marvel U Fenrir is like ancient (in the same way that Hela is) and has a whole race of werewolf-creature descendents … but this is MCU so I feel there's some wiggle room.

The idea with Jorg wasn't that reptiles are abhorrent … they're just more different from humans/Asgardians than wolves, which are at least social mammals. But as shown with the pyres, Fen isn't quite human either and believe me that's only getting more pronounced later.


	4. Chapter 3: Quest (Fenrir)

Chapter 3

Quest

Today, I'm turning sixty-three – I am most certainly not a baby anymore – and Father says I'm growing up too fast and tries very badly to pretend to be happy. _Why is he so sad, Uncle Thor? _I ask when we're alone. At first I assumed he was just being silly, but Thor is solemn too. Besides, Father has been less and less happy on my birthday with every passing year.

"Because … well … Fen … A boy your age should be … younger. A lot younger. Still a baby, in fact – but you're clearly half-grown."

_But he must have known this all along – that I age like a wolf instead of a boy._

"Yes but … every year he fails to lift the curse on you, it gets harder on him to see you grow up so fast. Do you understand?"

_Because his days with me are shorter?_

"Exactly. I'm glad you got his brains instead of mine," he says self-deprecatingly and kisses me on the nose. He doesn't even have to bend down to do that anymore, even when I'm on all fours. I barely fit in most places in the palace – they're building me a den on the grounds. Father is not happy about it – I tried to cheer him up by saying he should race to lift the curse before it's finished but I think that was a mistake. It didn't help.

My birthday this year is quieter than usual – it's never a huge celebration, given that throwing a prince's birthday feast for a pet wolf would be highly suspect, to say the least, but usually it's still quite a party, at least for our family. But today it's quiet – only Father, Uncle Thor, and I having a quiet supper. I'm not a child – I understand why. I'm surprised they were able to take time to celebrate at all. Uncle Thor lets me drink a little wine and Father doesn't protest it, for the first time ever. It's sour, but he mixes it with honey and then I like it. I drink the whole goblet, already diluted with water and now honey, and toss it down and demand another. "I think that's enough for now, son," Father says quickly.

_But I'm not affected by it,_ I insist. I'm not – I haven't felt anything from it, not even a little bit of tingling.

"That's the point – you're still just a boy," Father says. "I may relent on allowing you to get the taste, but my brother is not getting you drunk while I draw breath." I want to tell him he's being dramatic, but I hold my tongue. I've learned to hold my tongue around Father a lot. I'm tempted to ask about the battle against Lorelei's forces, but I know it will only be bad news, and Father and Uncle Thor are nowhere near the front anyway. They're both too powerful, in their own ways, to risk them falling to her siren call. Grandmother is there with her students and the shield maidens, hoping to overtake enough of Lorelei's forces that an assassin, also a woman (Sif if she's lucky), can get close enough to send her to my sister. I made the mistake of asking if I could go a few months ago – Father laughed nervously and said I'd be no more good than any man, since I could still fall prey to her voice. "Are you sure? Perhaps the boy is too young for that to be the case," Uncle Thor blurted out, which just made Father angry.

"Which is all the more reason that we're not going to find out," he snapped.

All too soon, the day is ended and they return to battle – I am old enough now to be left alone for a few days, but it's lonely. Sometimes I manage to read a little bit of a book, but it's too awkward to turn pages with my paws and I get frustrated too easily to continue with it very long, so most of the day I spend outside, playing on the grounds, or sleeping. At night it is hard to sleep and I spend most of it pacing and looking out the window, wishing I could be outside (when Father's home, he lets me play outside at night). My bed is far too small for me, and now I just sleep on a big pile of blankets in the room I once shared with my brother.

Some three days after my birthday, I am taking a nap on my blanket pile when someone knocks at the door. I can't open the doors of course – a servant has to come and let me in and out – so I just lift my head and try to ascertain, by smell, whether or not it's safe to call to the person on the other side. It's Sif – I can. _Sif! Come in!_

"You know I don't have a key – when will you be let out to play next?" I look at the sun out the window.  
_In about an hour or so – why?  
_"You're about to go on your first quest, Fen – I'll be waiting on the southern edge of the grounds when you're released."  
_But … why now? Why are you here when …_

"I'll explain everything in time – will you do as I say?"

_Of course!_ Why wouldn't I want to go on a quest? One that might prove me so brave Grandfather would want everyone to know who I am?

"Good – I'll see you then, Fenrir."

I try to go back to sleep – I'll need my strength for the quest – but I can't do anything but pace. Where are we going? What is our mission? Will there be danger? Of course there will be, but how much? Will we back before Father hears about it … oh he'll be so worried … maybe I shouldn't go … But he'll be so proud when we … do whatever it is we're supposed to be doing …

The servant comes to let me out and I know it's now or never. I go down to the southern edge and find Sif and Sigyn both waiting for me – my tail wags even harder when I catch scent of Sigyn. Vanir really do smell wonderful – I could smell them all day. _Where are we going?_ I ask eagerly.

"Hush Fen – we'll speak as we go," Sif says calmly.

"Sif – how can the boy agree to a quest if he doesn't know its nature?" Sigyn asks. She is more reserved – as usual. I can smell her fear, but I know she will do what she must. "Our quest is dangerous – we will be entering the realm of Vanaheim, but traveling far beyond the borders of my people's kingdom," she tells me gravely as she leans down to me. "We travel to find a rare metal which cannot be found in Asgard, but is abundant in Vanaheim, to bring to the dwarves to fashion a collar which might steal Lorelei's voice."

_And what purpose will I serve on this quest, my lady? _I ask, forcing myself to sound respectful and formal.

"There are … things in the place we hope to go," Sigyn says hesitantly, and the smell of fear is stronger just at the thought. "Things which we suspect will have some fear of you and your brother."  
_Jorg?! _I look around, trying to catch his scent … and watch her face fall.

"No … I'm sorry to disappoint you. Your older brother …"  
"Sigyn, they've never met," Sif says impatiently.

_I'm not the oldest?! _What else has Father lied to me about?  
"No … I guess Loki was …"  
"He'll be angry if we tell him, Fen doesn't even know about the way of things with men and women, let alone … Fen, you can ask your Father about it later," Sif says impatiently, and I am gravely annoyed at being treated like a baby in this matter when they're asking me to risk my life in a quest. This must have shown in my affect, because Sif catches herself. "I'm sorry Fen … I know you're old enough to know – but it's the sort of thing one doesn't tell other people's children – your Father should tell you, if he's ever ready, and I have no time to war with him about it now." I'm tempted to try to weasel the truth from her but I know that would be obnoxious, and she has her grief and her worry as it is, so I hold my tongue.

_Then we should go! _I say instead, and force my tail to wag.

"I can't emphasize the danger enough," Sigyn says softly.

_Then you will need me to protect you! I'm a big wolf and you are so little compared to me … _

"Very well, Fen. You will join us," Sigyn says, and I know she isn't happy about it – she still thinks of me as a little boy. I'll change that!

We stop at the stables – and to my surprise, the stable boy is waiting with the king's own stallion, Sleipnir. He is a magnificent eight-legged horse, almost twice as tall as most horses and dappled gray but with the highly unusual ability to change his fur black when riding into battle. _I thought you said we'd be traveling with my brother … _I can't quite interpret the look on Sif's face, but Sigyn smiles and says,

"This is your brother, silly boy."  
_I have heard much about you, Fenrir. _My ears go up in response – I haven't been spoken to thusly since Jorgumunder was banished. But Sigyn and Sif didn't react so I don't know what to think. Sleipnir looks to me and I hear a soft laughter. _Your father and Thor are the only two-legs who know I can speak – and now one little four-legs is in on the secret. It is much less grief when they think you're just a dumb animal. _I don't know how to only speak to one person, so I just nod.

_It's nice to meet you big brother, _I say vaguely and lick his face. He surprises me by licking mine – I didn't think horses went for licking. But it's the best exchange of love I've ever had – I didn't know I missed him, but I did.

_Now, little brother, we journey into danger – do you understand what waits for us?_

_Er … monsters?_

_The draugur – the undead. They will not harm us without provocation – but the danger to our two-legged companions will be great. Will you risk your life for theirs?_

_In a heartbeat. _The women look to me, surely wondering why I'm talking to Sleipnir when they can't hear him.

_Very good. Because you will. And I must teach you how to speak to only one person, Fenrir. _

I think I blush a little bit under my fur. Sleipnir kneels so that Sif and Sigyn can climb on his back – he's already saddled with a double saddle for them. _Can you run at my side, Fenrir? _he asks.

_I can, but perhaps not as fast as you._

_That is a shame. But I suppose it cannot be helped. With luck you will not need to. _

We make our way to the rainbow bridge – I have never crossed it. Even when I was brought to Asgard, I was brought an alternate way. I have never met the gatekeeper, but I know he is highly regarded, and that he is Sif's brother. I bow to him, and he smiles at me. "Young Prince Fenrir – it is good to finally meet you," he says and bows in turn. I hesitate, not sure if it's okay to speak to him.

"It's all right Fen – he helped me find you and bring you home when you were small. He knows," Sif tells me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

_In turn, I am pleased to at last make your acquaintance, noble gatekeeper. My family speaks highly of you. _

"I am glad to hear my reputation is thus, Prince Fenrir. I wish that our meeting had been under less dire circumstances. I wish you luck on your quest in Vanaheim."

_Thank you, Heimdall._

"And as for you, Sister – may your journey be swift, and may your quest be successful. May it bring you peace, in the end." He steps back, and turns his sword in a mechanism like a lock and key. "And Sigyn – I hope you find what you seek," he adds, and she nods gracefully but a little bit of color drains from her face, and I wonder what he means. Sleipnir steps gracefully to the now open gate, and I follow decidedly less gracefully but with as much dignity as I can muster.

Traveling on the rainbow bridge is not nearly as fun as I thought it would be, but I am not about to show it. _Let's do that again! _I say cheerfully and hope Sigyn and Sif don't see my legs shaking when we land in a small clearing in some heavy woods.

_We will when we return,_ Sleipnir says teasingly, and laughs – which sounds like a neigh – when he sees my expression at the thought. But Sif and Sigyn are solemn, and our laughter dies quickly.

_Will we stop and see your family, Sigyn? _I ask.

"No Fen – we're nowhere near there," she says shortly, in almost a whisper. "I had already gotten the necessary permissions beforehand …Heimdall shifted the gate so that we would land closer to our destination …" As she speaks, I catch the scent of something that raises my hackles – Sleipnir's legs stiffen and his ears go up and I know he smells it too. It smells … wrong. The smells of life and death mixed together like that is just … unholy.

_I warned you the undead were here – be ready to run, _Sleipnir warns me. He goes forward at a fast walk – he keeps his head held high and acts as though nothing is wrong. Probably because he doesn't want to scare the women, who surely haven't smelled anything yet. I follow suit and keep my head high and bounce along like I am totally unafraid, while keeping my ears peeled and monitoring the smell – is it getting stronger?

Sleipnir knows where he's going – I want to ask but since I can't speak only to him, I don't bother. The women don't talk to each other at all – Sigyn mutters incantations that presumably will help keep them safe. Or safer, at any rate. Sif keeps a hand on her sword and looks around in every direction.

We clear the woods after less than half an hour – we come across some very gray, rolling plains, with signs of mining all about. There are tracks and carts piled high with rocks and tools, left where they lay. _I assume we are looking for some of this metal already mined? _I ask, speaking at last, while straining my nose and eyes searching the vast open place. Fog gathers in some low places, which makes my heart race with anxiety. It does not look safe, to say the least.

"Yes, Fen – there should be plenty of that," Sigyn says softly, and her eyes are filled with sorrow as well as fear. "We'll fill a bag with it – as much as I can carry – and let the smith keep what he does not need for the task for his trouble." I want to say that a bag that was all that Sif can carry would be a better prize, but I don't want to speak at all. I don't want any noise at all – and yet the silence is awful. It's an unnatural silence – in the woods at least there was the sound of animals and wind in the trees. Here there is nothing – no animals, no wind. Whatever is here must be a danger to animals as well as man.

_Sigyn, what happened here? _I ask when I can take the silence no more.

"The miners ignored the warnings from the dwarves … They delved too deep and without caution, and opened graves without intending to, and unleashed … them. The draugur."

_Oh. _

We don't say anything else until we reach the mouth of the mine. I was definitely hoping there would just happen to be a bag's worth of this metal lying around outside, but of course any of that is long gone. "If we come on a fork, we should go separate ways to speed the errand," Sif says. Sleipnir neighs in protest.

_Is she mad?! _He asks me.

_Sometimes._

"And how will we know when what we've collected together is enough?" Sigyn asks, annoyed with her but not nearly as frightened as either of the Lokisons. Maybe they're both mad.

"When you've filled half the bag have Fen bring you to me or when I've lifted enough to fill half Sleipnir and I shall find you. We might end up with more than we need but that is the better error."  
_But Sif – I don't think that's wise considering the …_

"Fen – every moment we delay, shield maidens and soldiers of Asgard slay each other, and Lorelei does who knows what to her captives! I will not delay even a second longer than necessary," Sif says sharply. Those captives include her and Sigyn's fiancés, Haldor and Theoric – maybe that is why they are so bold. Well … even more so than usual.

_Maybe we won't come on a fork … _I say hopefully as we enter the tunnel, but then the smell is so overwhelming I can think of nothing else.

I keep an eye out for metal, but my eyes aren't as sharp as theirs – I get by mostly by hearing and smelling. And speaking of hearing …

It's a soft moan at first – a pained, sorrowful sound. Sleipnir's head is still held high, so I don't show that I'm afraid.

_It's a good thing two-legs can't smell fear, _he teases gently. _It's all right though – anyone with sense has fear of the draugur, _he adds before I can snap back that I smell fear off him. As he says it he looks pointedly at Sif – Sigyn is trembling and reeks of fear, but Sif is calm. It's cultivated, I know – some warriors just learn how not to show fear (though she is not a warrior, this can be said of Sigyn – if I didn't notice the trembling in her hands, and I wasn't a wolf who can smell fear, I would think she was unafraid) and others learn to master it, to feel it for a moment and then beat it into submission. Clearly, Sif is one such warrior.

Or she really is mad.

The moaning grows louder and louder as we go. "Oh, here is some," Sigyn whispers to me, and she sounds relieved. I follow her to the side of the tunnel and watch farther down as she kneels to gather several small nuggets. I certainly hope it's in bigger pieces farther down. Not too much farther – the smell is unbearable now. Sif urges Sleipnir forward.

_There's no fork here, _I say desperately.

"If we come on one, Sleipnir and I shall take the left, you take the right," she says over her shoulder. "Take the right at every turn unless something compels you otherwise – then I will know where to find you."

_Be careful little wolf, _Sleipnir tells me as he goes. I have to stop myself from cursing. I don't like this. I don't like this at all.

As soon as Sif is gone, Sigyn wraps her arms around my neck and lets the tears fall. "I am very afraid, Fen," she whispers.

_I know._ I say awkwardly.

"My brothers were lost here," she whispers. I knew she didn't have any family, but I didn't know why. I nuzzle her shoulder comfortingly – I know licking would be bad form. "They came to fight the draugur … I thought if I came … if I saw what they saw in their last moments …"

_It will be all right. I will not let their fate be yours._

"I know you will protect me, Fen," she says sadly. I am very confused about why she is still sobbing. "Please, do not tell Sif that I was so weak I had to lean on a child for a while," she says, wiping away the tears and managing a smile.

_Of course not. _A particularly loud moan comes from further down the tunnel. I lay down so she can climb on. _Lady Sigyn, if you would, climb on my back, for your own sake. _

"But Fen …"  
_I insist_, I say gravely._ I will play at being a horse for a little while, _I add, more playfully, and she acquiesces.

We are not having much luck retrieving anything larger than the little nuggets – I'm not much help I'm afraid. I could help, in theory, but my nose is too distracted by other scents. Any time she spots one, I lay down and insist she pick up pieces while remaining on my back in case I have to run.

And it isn't long before we see one. Sigyn grabs my fur tight, seeing it before I do – in the dim light of the tunnel, I can make out very little, though I knew it must be close from smell and sound. It is almost a man, but rotted half away and the flesh that remains looks black and frostbitten. It still wears the armor of a Vanir soldier, but the cloth underneath is tattered and all but worn away, and any helmet it once had is long gone, leaving the sight of it's rotting head all too visible. He looks right at me with eyes that are still intact long after they should have rotted away, but glazed and pale in death, and speaks in a frail, whispering voice. "What's this? The fearsome Fenrir Odin-Bane being ridden like a common mule?"

_Don't come near my friend, creature, _I retort and snarl at him. But I'm disquieted by what he called me … Odin-Bane?

"I can't make any promises, Odin-Bane …"

_What is this you call me?  
_"Don't you know your name?" he taunts.

_Silence!_

"Will you let us pass?" Sigyn asks calmly, and I almost laugh. She's so diplomatic.

"Odin-Bane has leave to go where he wishes," the thing answers, and steps to the side.

_If you even try to touch her I will tear you apart, _I snarl. It only laughs at me, and I walk by, cautiously.

"Your brothers' flesh was sweet, Freydottir," it says, and Sigyn almost pulls out a chunk of my fur her grip gets so tight.

I whirl on it, despite her protests, and sink my teeth into the horrible creature's head, intending to silence the laughter now emanating from it. Its rotted flesh is foul in my mouth but I tear at it anyway – I bite down as hard as I can until I feel its skull crunch under my teeth and the soft, almost liquid brains spill into my mouth and the laughter becomes strangled and then stops. "Fen did you have to do that?" Sigyn asks in disgust and horror as I drop the corpse – now really a corpse – at my feet and desperately spit away dried blood and rancid flesh and brain.

_It was cruel to you. _

"Yes but …"

_The man it once was would be grateful to me for ending his disgrace. _I hadn't thought about that at all beforehand, but she seems to accept that and doesn't complain anymore, even though I am sure she's appalled, so I decide that was a good excuse to use.

The tunnel gets darker the deeper we go – that brings me so much joy. Sigyn uses a spell to summon a little ball of light to her hand which we use as a torch – Sif took the two torches, which is good in case one runs out or gets dropped, since Sigyn can always do the spell. We see more and more of them, lounging about the tunnel and staring hungrily at Sigyn, but they do nothing, presumably because of my presence. Any defiance they might have had towards me is probably dampened by the gore I was unable to spit away on my muzzle – they know I can and will, without hesitation, make sure they stay dead this time, and they seem to have some instincts of self-preservation.

It suddenly occurs to me that I sincerely hope that Sigyn's brothers are dead … truly dead. I don't want her to see one of them as a draugur …

I come on several forks and turn right at each one, just like I told Sif I would. It makes me very nervous though – the deeper we go, the more I worry. And that damn bag has barely anything in it. _Are you sure there's enough metal left in the mines for this task, Sigyn? _

"Yes Fen – we just have to go deeper," she whispers.

_Is there anything else at all in all the universe we could use?_

"If there was, I wouldn't be here."

_I don't understand why Sif can't just kill Lorelei – why bother with a muzzle?  
_"The Allfather believes she's learned things about his other enemies – information he needs. He wants her tried and interrogated – by women obviously – and kept alive."

_If it will save lives, I suppose it is worth it._

I am very worried for Sif, all though Sleipnir can probably kick their heads right off if they try anything. Even so …

We come to a place where several tunnels join together, into one big room where apparently much of the carting and gathering of the metal took place. There is a lot of metal here – scattered all along the floor and walls. I am incredibly nervous here – there are three or four of them all just standing around. I am not sure how fast these things can move, or if they'll be emboldened by each other's presence, and I do not wish to find out. There is an overturned cart overflowing with the metal we need – Sigyn can fill her entire bag and then we can leave and find Sif – the split up was likely unnecessary. _Stay on my back please, _I tell Sigyn as I lay down by the cart, keeping my head up and growling at the creatures. Two of them are close together, and one leans over and speaks conspiratorially to the other, but fully within my hearing.

"Isn't that precious? The fearsome Death Bringer wants to protect his stepmother," one of them hisses to another one.

_What did you call me? _I demand. If I get a good answer to that, I'll ask why they refer to Sigyn as such.

"It's hard to believe this is the great Odin-Bane, isn't it?" one of the others whispers. "Such a fearsome Death Bringer, letting his stepmother ride him like a mule," the other taunts.

_Shut up! _I order.

"Fen, they taunt you because they're afraid," Sigyn pleads with me, trying to keep me calm as she shoves the pale metal we've been looking for into the bag, but my hackles are raised and my lips turn up into a snarl without any input from me. I'm sick of the smell of these stupid things, I'm sick of their voices, I'm sick of everything about them. I'm sick of their mysteriousness, and how they seem to know these things. "Fen – we have enough," she says and fumbles to close the bag.

_Fill it all _I growl, and I forget to watch my tone.

"Surely Sif has gathered some …"  
_We will bring the dwarf master every scrap of metal we can carry to him, Lady Sigyn, _I say authoritatively, in the tone I only use when pretending I'm at court, practicing for when Father can make me a real boy.

"Very well, Prince Fenrir," she says in the same formal tone, following my lead, and she tries to stuff more scraps into the bag with her hands badly shaking, while I glare at the creatures.

The shift in tone doesn't discourage the creatures – in fact it emboldens them. "What a handsome little princeling," one says teasingly. "So formal and domesticated – I'm sure the prince is glad to show off his pet." That stings, but I stay where I am, glaring at them, until Sigyn throws the bag over her shoulder.

"That's it Fen, it won't hold another scrap," she says breathlessly, and I start to rise from the floor, never taking my eyes off the creatures even though my ears are peeled for the arrival of any from another direction – by now there are so many of them and the smell is so strong and ubiquitous I dare not rely on that sense for anything precise.

"We should fetch the Freysons to bid farewell to their sweet sister," one of the creatures whispers to another. The sharp pain in my shoulders from my fur being pulled lets me know Sigyn heard that.

_One of your companions already told us they were dead – I will rip each of you apart before you compel the lady to know which of you is a liar, _I say sharply, and lick my lips even though it means running my tongue over the foul blood.

"Neither of us – two were devoured, two joined us," the one who spoke says again.

"Fen, let us go," Sigyn says in a shaking voice, and I can smell her tears.

_Silence! _I order. We're surrounded now and several of them are blocking the way out – I know they are frightened of me and a gentle suggestion will probably work, but I'm going to make it less pleasant for them, since they've been such good hosts.

"The little one screamed and carried on like a little girl as …"  
_Silence, and get out of my way! _I order, and I drop my voice an octave below the sound any man could produce. Despite their bluster, they step back hurriedly, and I fight the urge to run past the open space back into the tunnel. Instead I hold my head up and walk past slowly, almost daring them to try to touch Sigyn and give me a reason to bite their heads off.

"Fen … do you think we could find the two … and you could end their disgrace?" Sigyn whispers.

_Perhaps in better days – there are so many of them I could not hope to tell one from another, and I would not have you see them like this, and we have a duty elsewhere. I will return when I can, Lady Sigyn._ I tell her softly.

On the way out of the room, I look over to one standing a little too close to me. I snatch him up by the neck, bite down hard, and throw his still twitching corpse into the room. It knocks two of them over and I almost laugh as I drop the still muttering head at my feet. Sigyn curses under her breath. _That is for the torment of my friend. Consider yourself lucky I did not kill every one of you, _I say haughtily, in that same, unnaturally deep voice, and then make my way down the tunnel.

I kill every one I see lounging in the tunnels, and Sigyn has stopped protesting by the second one. Before long, we don't see them very often, and the ones we do see scamper away as soon as they see me like a cockroach. In the empty tunnel, Sigyn lets me have it. "Fenrir, what is wrong with you?"  
_I suspect they don't feel pain, and if they do they're probably glad I end it in one swift bite rather than rotting away for hundreds of years._

"But it … it doesn't bother you at all?!" I suppose I should be upset – but I don't see why. They're not part of us anymore. And further than that they're an enemy. But I give her what she wants.

_I … I guess so. But they were cruel to you, and they scared me. I just wanted to protect you, _I say sweetly.

"I'm … I'm sorry, Fen," she says, and collapses forward so she's almost laying on me. "I was wrong to ask you …"  
_No. I would gladly do this to aid your family, _I say quickly. _I vow to you that I will discover the truth of these vicious rumors and end your family's suffering if need be._

"But you're just a boy …"  
_If it is all right with you, my lady, I have had my fill of the phrase, "Just a boy." I would rather suffer this unpleasantness for a few days than have your family continue suffering uncertainty._

"You say that now, but I won't hold you to it," she says softly. "I suppose I should get off your back."  
_Not until we find Sif and get the Hel out of here, _I answer. _After what I've done, I'm certain any stray draugur would be happy to take you to repay me a bit of what I have done. _

When we get to the mouth of the cave and Sif is not there, we go back down the way she had gone. Eventually, I somehow manage to catch the scent of frightened horse over the scent of the undead and Vanir tears. I howl, knowing my physical voice will carry further than my mental one. And I'm amused to think of the draugur scampering away like cockroaches at the sound.

_Fenrir, you little fool. I'll kick your skull in if you do that again, _Sleipnir's voice scolds me in my head. I am impressed his mental voice carries that far, and I wish I could talk back to him. But I trust it brings him back in my direction, and I keep on trotting further, scaring draugur into the darkness … likely right towards Sif and Sleipnir.

I freeze in place as soon as I realize this, hoping I haven't made this task harder on my brother. _I assume due to the fact we're not all being eaten that you've managed to cultivate their natural fear of you, _I hear Sleipnir's voice, and now he's close enough I can hear the clopping of his hooves in the echoing tunnel. _Well done, young wolf._

_Thank you, _I say now that he's close enough. I would ask how much they got but then I remember I am supposed to be keeping his secret and stay silent.

Sif joins us – now that she has seen who knows how many of them, even her warrior resolve is shaking and I smell her fear as well – and Sleipnir trots to me and looks me over, making sure I was not hurt in my battle with draugur. Well, it was pretty one sided combat. _How much did you get? _I ask cheerfully as we quickly head back the way we came. My fear of these things has greatly diminished – they fall apart in my mouth like the flaky pastries Uncle Thor isn't supposed to give me. Only they don't taste as good.

"Only a handful," Sif says. "Tell me …"  
_We filled a whole bag. We found a place with carts still full of the stuff._

"I am sorry to both of you – I separated us for nothing," she says wearily. "And I wasted time …"  
_You couldn't have known – it could have been you who stumbled on it, _I say appeasingly, my tail wagging. She brings her torch around to look at my face for the first time since she joined us.

"I always told your father you were a warrior," she says with a slight smile. I must have a lot of gore on my face.

We come to the long straight tunnel to the entrance and find the place crawling with draugur. I may have said I was not afraid, but seeing so many – there must be at least three dozen here – I have to go back on that a little. _They don't want to let this much of their treasure go – it would seem their greed has outweighed their fear for the moment, _Sleipnir says dryly, but the fear that had eased when we started to leave has returned in force.

_Sigyn, get on Sleipnir, _I say. Sif reaches out a hand to help and Sigyn jumps, rather ungracefully, onto his back. I won't tell anyone._ If you do not get out of the way, I will tear each and every one of you apart, _I say to the draugur in that low voice I had used earlier. They respond, as I thought they might, by charging.

Sif gets to see me in action – I feel them trying to bite me, but their feeble man teeth have quite a hard time digging through thick winter wolf fur, and I just bite through them like they're nothing while Sleipnir starts stomping and trying to get past. Since he has the delicate two-legs on his back, his escape is a priority. Some of them still hold swords and axes, but even then I am not worried. I sling the bodies of the ones I'm chewing on into the others to knock them off balance – again, it's almost funny to see the previously frightful creatures topple over, but I'd never tell Sigyn that.

Sleipnir makes it out of the mines and runs, and since he has eight legs he's able to run even faster than other horses. As soon as he's past, they step aside and let me pass – out of spite, I grab one and drag him into the sunlight to see what will happen. He shrieks in pain but doesn't die or anything exciting – so I just bite his head off like the others.

I run as fast as I can to join Sleipnir, but a wolf can hardly expect to outpace an eight-legged horse.

He's waiting for me in the woods – he whinnies anxiously and lowers his head to examine me once more. The women do the same – Sigyn with more obvious worry. The draugur managed to get a few shallow bites and one glancing blow with an axe, but nothing that even hurts that badly. "Well done, Fenrir Lokison," Sif says breathlessly. "You do justice to your family's honor, young warrior." I puff out my chest as far as possible.

"Those bites … I'll have to watch them for infection," Sigyn worries over me softly as she strokes the few places they broke skin.

_We should go now _Sleipnir tells me urgently, and I relay the message to the women, and we go on at a good pace – I'm anxious to get away from this place and go on to the rest of our quest, and I'm sure they feel the same. 


	5. Chapter 4: Portland (Coulson)

Chapter 4

Portland

Coulson

**Author's Note I: **I switched back to Coulson earlier than I thought I would because I realized it would make very little structural sense to go through all of the first half of Fen's story … then drop the bottom out of it and start again with exposition and rising action for Coulson's part. It makes much more sense to alternate between Coulson's investigation/backstory and flashbacks to Fen's life so that I can build more naturally to the moment when the stories intersect … it will also be easier to read that way. I also changed a little bit of chapter 2 – I added a bit of character establishment/foreshadowing right at the beginning.

* * *

_I trusted him. _

That's the thought that drives me to distraction, that leaves me staring at nothing at my desk, absently flipping through my notebooks. I was pleading to die … did he ever hear it or was he up in his office? Has he ever lost sleep over it? Probably not – he has bigger things to worry about.

And that's what really baffles me. Why me? Why Phillip Coulson? Why was it so important to have _me _back of all people?

Maybe I should contact Romanov. I can't call Audrey. She has to stay out of this for her own safety … and what would I even say to her? "Oh by the way, sweetie, I'm back from the dead." I mentally go through the loved ones who know I'm alive … I can't bring in Bobbi and Clint for the same reason I can't bring in my team … she'd be furious if she knew I was being protective of her, but there's part of me that will always see Bobbi as the four-year-old freckle-faced blond who came to live with us when I was sixteen. Our mothers were worried we wouldn't get along, that I'd resent her, since I'd always been the baby of the family, but I adored her. I like to think she felt the same about me.

Barton's lucky I like him – he probably doesn't know I do. Ironically, it took dying to remember that I like him – they showed me pictures from my funeral. He was there for her – he was kind, he was strong, he was who she needed him to be right at that moment. I think that was the first time since they started seeing each other I ever saw him the way she sees him – as a good man, instead of as a teenage hoodlum, an AWOL marine, or worse. Of course, it probably helps I know what he did in New York too. I was almost happy to give her away to him … Almost. Poor kid, I should be nicer to him. Or maybe the fact I gave him his second chance is enough …

They told them the same thing they told me, that I'd died for a few minutes on the table but made it through okay, and went for recovery in Tahiti. (Where was I _really _for six weeks? I have no memory of it – and the surgeries only took a few days.) She ambushed me in the S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost as soon as I set foot in the door, and I just held her like when she was a little girl and wished I could still pick her up. "I was so afraid that the last words I ever said to you were …"

"Shh, it's okay, I wasn't even mad."

"Oh … so you did hear it, I was hoping you didn't …"

"Bobbi, it's okay." She tried to go looking for Clint when he was under Loki's control and I interfered – I ordered her to some stupid side duty in Los Angeles and banned her from S.H.I.E.L.D. transport for the next few days. A science officer had no business getting mixed up in that – no matter what she thought or even if she'd started her training to be a field agent. She wasn't happy – she left me a less than pleasant voicemail. I probably should have lied and pretended I didn't know what she meant, but I was just so happy to see her I didn't think.

"I'm so sorry, Bobbi … I tried to …"  
"Fury said you bugged everyone to call me as soon as you were awake … I'm not mad at you," she said quickly. "I guess you're going to want to know about your funeral … not everyone gets that kind of opportunity …"

My funeral …

I was already being operated on, I was already in that room, while everyone was there. Everyone. Romanov, Cap, Stark … even Whitney came. She seemed sad, for what it's worth. Bobbi and Tom must have been the only one who knew who she was, with Mom gone …

"Sir?" Simmons asks softly, and the sound of her voice startles me. I really am off my game – it's been years since anyone's managed to sneak up on me on purpose, let alone accidentally. I don't jump, I don't let it show, I don't even turn my head.

"Anything new?" I ask. She's been driving herself crazy, trying to decode the dark secret running through my veins and Skye's – on top of the case at hand.

"Yes – about the creature tentatively identified as a wolf …" Bobbi would like her. Maybe she does – I don't know if they've met. We don't announce the relationship – I don't want the others to give her a hard time because they think she gets favors because of me.

"The DNA in the saliva sample was similar to members of the Canidae family, but … nothing like known wolf species."  
"It wouldn't be," I say and finally turn my head to look her in the eye. "It's from a whole other planet … probably as different from our wolves as the Asgardians are from us."  
"Even moreso, in fact," she says evenly. "It … appears to have some markers we usually only expect to see in humans or Asgardians." The science officers were able to assemble a database of Asgardian markers pretty quickly from a sample donation from Professor Randolph and blood from Thor and Loki left at the Helicarrier and Stark Tower – not enough to tell individual Asgardians apart on that small of a sample, but enough to tell the difference between human and Asgardian DNA.  
"You're not saying it's some kind of Asgardian werewolf, are you Simmons?" I ask, and manage a smile.

"Honestly sir … I don't know."  
"Guess we'll just have to find it," I say. It's moving fast, whatever it is – it kindly leaves us an arm or part of a leg (always the left arm and the right leg) at kill scenes, like a morbid trail of breadcrumbs, as it moves from (thankfully sparsely populated parts of) Canada towards the American west coast. Fitz is trying to build a mathematical model of its pattern but it's like it knows we're chasing it – every time we show up to patrol an area, it kills several hundred miles further south or west. We can't quite keep it out of the news – the body count is too high for that. "Animal control authorities in both countries" are tracking a "rogue bear" but most people have correctly guessed it's something worse. I may have scoffed at the idea of it being some kind of werewolf, but whatever it is, it's intelligent, and possibly magical considering the escapes it's made so far. Or else it's got help – that's a distinct possibility.

"Sir … if I may … Perhaps this is a little bit insane but …"  
"We're dealing with a possible Asgardian werewolf, Simmons, very little sounds insane in comparison."

"Well … I just was trying to understand why it's always the left leg and the right hand … and always with roughly the same proportion of limb attached. Obviously it's an indication of intelligence but … It's also ritualistic. I was trying to think about it the same way you would if the offender were human and … then I remembered … it's not human it's Asgardian …"

"Simmons, you're rambling," I say gently. Not that I can fault her for scattered thoughts, considering the state I'm in.

"I think it might be Fenrir," she says quickly. I know the significance of that theory – I've read my Norse mythology.

"Fenrir – the giant wolf that's supposed to eat everyone at Ragnorak," I say. Well, not everyone … but a lot of people.

"Well yes and …"  
"Loki's son. Somehow I'm not entirely sure that's possible, even on Asgard, for a humanoid to have an animal child. Especially considering that if I recall correctly, the mother was a frost giant … not an actual wolf." All though somehow I don't think anyone would have been surprised by the latter after the horse rape story.  
"I know … I told you it was mildly insane … but the fact that it's always those limbs, I almost feel as though it's a reference to Tyr and the loss of his hand, like it's become his signature. And anyway, he wouldn't have to be Loki's son … he could be his pet or … something." It is, indeed, insane. But I can't discount the theory – I can't discount anything, not where Asgard is involved. Not even that Loki's animal son may be trying to get revenge for … whatever punishment he got on Asgard for his Earthly rampage. I have to consciously stop myself from reaching up to touch my scar.

"We should ask Professor Randolph – he'd be able to gauge how ridiculous or not ridiculous it is better than we can," I say.

"I'll contact him," she says. But she doesn't leave.

"Did you have something else to say, Simmons?"

"Sir you … I know you probably don't want me to say anything but you haven't been the same since …"  
"The Guest House?"  
"Since Lorelei." Really? That's when she thinks the divergence point was? Maybe it was. Something about what Sif said … about how she'll do whatever Odin says no matter what it costs her … I can't be that obedient anymore. "I just … maybe you should talk to someone in counseling …"  
"I have a therapist, Simmons. You get one when you die and come back," I snap. "Even if it was only for a few seconds," I add cheerfully, catching myself. "I'm sorry … you've done good work today. Any leads could be helpful." But she's still holding back – she wants to say something else, but she just takes a deep breath and walks away.

I'd be worried about it if I didn't see the upper half of a blue … something … and severed arms lying in a pool of blood spatter every time I close my eyes.

* * *

The day begins and by necessity, my wallowing ends, with a call at six twenty-two a.m. from operations – they just got a call about our wolf friend from a panicked police chief in Portland.

None of them know about Audrey – I don't let it show I'm worried. It's a big city after all.

We drive out to the scene, and I try not to think about the fact I could have gone to live in this city if I had taken the retirement package. I very nearly did – one time, about six years ago, I did some undercover work as a high school principal to protect some Gifted kids, and it was the hardest time I've ever had not going native. I loved everything about that job – people hate kids that age, I liked they were old enough to give a hard time if they didn't straighten up. Most of them are terrible, sure, but some of them are starting to turn into amazing people, and if you're lucky you can help some of them find their way to being those amazing people. Well almost everything – some of the parents made you cringe at how they could treat their own kids that way, or treat other adults so disrespectfully in front of their kids, and the school board, so far as I could tell, was there to be obstructive. But I could have dealt with it, to be with her … but the agency called me back. Maybe I shouldn't have let it.

I start to get nervous as I recognize the neighborhood we're in. I glance over at the GPS Ward is using to navigate to the scene and my heart stops. It's less than two miles away from Audrey's place – it's a little park where we used to walk sometimes, and see the kids playing and talk about whether we wanted any of our own …

"I'd love a baby with your blue eyes, Phil," she said forlornly, her hands folded in her lap.

"If it wasn't meant to be, it wasn't meant to be," I said and took her hand. "We can adopt … there's plenty of babies in the world as it is. We could love one of them."

We pull up into the park, and my worry has reached its peak. In the distance, I can see several tarps draped loosely in such a way that I can't get a good sense what's under them. "Do we have a description on the victims?" I ask Ward – all I know is there were multiple victims.

"Three men, two Caucasian and one African-American, and two women, both Caucasian," he answers. I cringe, my heart beating faster.

"All adults? That park is frequented by a lot of children …"  
"All adults. And a dog."

"How much of the dog was left?"  
"The dog was intact," Ward answers. "So were both of the women, and … there was a lot more of the men left than usual." Even a hungry Asgardian werewolf has its limits, I suppose. I look in the rearview mirror and see that Skye looks a little green – I wanted her to stay but she insisted on coming to help. I should disclose my conflict of interest – warn my teammates that my heart is racing because I'm afraid when I pull the tarp off one of the female victims I'm going to see the love of my life, that if she's still alive she could be here, trying to check on the situation that has her neighbors stirred up and she'll know I'm alive and that's still classified … And then I realize I don't care about that. I don't want Audrey to know I'm alive because I don't want to hurt her, and no other reason.

I force my hands not to shake as I pull back the tarp on both the women to take a quick look. Neither of them are Audrey – I breathe an inaudible sigh of relief. The women are a gruesome sight, but less than the men. The women were "just" mauled – their throats and faces were punctured by massive teeth, and I'm sure Simmons can tell me more about whether they died of blood loss or the shattering of bones under powerful jaws. But no part of them was eaten. The men, however, were eviscerated and a good portion of their flesh is gone – but as usual it seems to have left their left legs and right hands more or less alone – those only have a few teeth marks and not much muscular stripping. The poor dog is almost torn in half – but none of it was eaten. My heart beats faster as I recognize … or think I recognize, it's hard to tell … Beau, but I decide to play dumb for now, and try to tell myself there are lots of big black mutts in Portland. "Do we know who the dog belonged to?" I ask.

"The police say it belonged to an Audrey Nathan …" Ward says, confirming my worst fear. The bottom drops out of my stomach but I don't show it. "She came on the scene of the attack and the thing attacked her dog but left her untouched until she attempted to help one of the victims who was still alive at that time – she was taken to the hospital with comparatively minor injuries."

"What kind of injuries?" I ask, immediately worried that it might have bit her hands to keep her from touching its prey … that would make the most sense for an animal.

"Broken ribs and minor puncture wounds – it apparently batted her away." He gives me a look – this is bizarre for any creature, let alone a vicious wolf. It's only reinforcing our evidence it has human intelligence. But why did it spare Audrey? It's just coincidence … isn't it? I'm going to have to confess now – they'll need to question her, and they need to know about the connection, coincidence or no. But not here.

"We'll need to question her," I say, stating the obvious. "You, May, and Skye find out what hospital she's in and go talk to her – I'll stay here with Simmons," I say removing myself from temptation.

"I don't think we need Skye," Ward says coolly, glancing over at where she's throwing up in the bushes – and has been ever since I lifted the first tarp. "She can stay here and help you." If he had more of a sense of humor, I'd say he's pulling a sadistic joke on her. As it is, he probably just wants her to get used to the blood and guts we deal with now and then – I nod but walk over to her and put an arm over her shoulders. "Do you need to go back to the bus?" I ask. Fitz wisely stayed on board.

"I'll … I'll be fine in a second," she insists stubbornly, but there are tears in her eyes.

"It's okay if you need to go – not everyone does well with this part," I say gently. I lean in closer and whisper the next part, as though he can hear me. "Agent Sitwell pukes his guts up at the sight of blood."

"Really? But he's like a badass agent …"  
"Yep." I leave out the part that we make fun of him for it. "You don't have to overcome everything overnight, Skye – why don't you go back and help Fitz with … whatever he's doing right now."

"I um … I don't know the way."  
"Why don't you go sit in the car then?" I ask, my patience starting to run just a little short. "You can probably get some work done towards the … problem at hand, even from the car."

"But …"  
"I mean it Skye – we've got to look professional to the locals. We don't need them seeing you freaking out," I say calmly. I should have known better than to let her come – but she was so eager and I didn't want to put a damper on that.

"But …"  
"Skye – now," I say more firmly. It occurs to me this would probably be what it would have sounded like if I ever had had kids. "There's no shame in limits, but you have to know them."

"Okay yeah I'll … I'll look at some files," she says, pretending to be cool but deliberately not looking in the direction of the bodies. I nod in acknowledgment, and then go back to work.

With Fitz on the bus, Simmons is by herself in the work of recording the scene with the probes – I basically stand guard and take in the grisly scene as she gathers trace evidence (will it reveal anything new?) and documents the scene. I try to think of all we know – the way this thing gets around definitely suggests intelligence, maybe even that it has magic. Normally, I would assume it's because someone is controlling this thing … but Simmons' discovery with the genetic markers lends credence to the monster working solo, not that I'm abandoning the former theory.

But, if Simmons is right, and it is Fenrir …

I think about all the things I read about Odin inflicting on Loki in my Norse mythology – is it bad that I'm hoping for the snake venom in the eyes? – and wonder if any of them would allow him to organize this directly from wherever he's imprisoned on Asgard? A very unpleasant thought occurs to me – these murders started right after Sif went back with Lorelei. Lorelei was muzzled, so she couldn't have told him anything, but maybe Sif taunted him, telling him that I had survived … he wouldn't remember me by name, or at all, if it weren't for the fact I got in a good shot on my way out. The first attack was so close to where we already were, and now there's one in Portland … It's probably nothing, but it's worth keeping in mind.

It would help if we could contact the Asgardians and ask some questions, maybe see if he's still in his cell, or under his snake, whatever the case may be, and ascertain the odds of his getting communication beyond it. That would at least narrow down the possibilities.

"Sir – I think I have all I can get from here. It might be beneficial if I could do a full autopsy on the remains." That's not going to make the locals happy … then again they'll be glad to have as much of this mess out of their hands as possible.

"I'll do what I can," I say, taking my cue.

May and I watch through glass as Simmons, wearing a surgical mask, carefully dissects what's left of the victims. The locals were more than willing to turn over the bodies for the time being on the barest of assurances – they'll be treated with respect and we'll return them to the Portland city morgue as soon as we have as much information as we can glean to help capture the "rogue bear." As we speak, an army of firsties, agents straight out of the academy, are canvassing the neighborhood, asking questions we gave them, and we'll meet with them tomorrow morning, hopefully hearing something useful.

"Audrey was fine," May says, out of nowhere.

"Audrey?" I ask, playing dumb.

"I met her at your funeral, Coulson – I know you were close."

I have no argument to that, so I just pretend the attempted deception never happened.

"She must have been so afraid …"  
"She was mostly upset about the dog," May cuts me off.

"Yeah. I told her she should get a dog to help with … unwanted attention. She got Beau from a shelter …" He was this sweet but dumb mutt, big enough to be intimidating to people who didn't know the worst danger he presented was probably licking you to death but not big enough for keeping him in an apartment to be an act of cruelty. He loved most people but he didn't like men – we think he was abused by men – and it took several visits before he stopped growling at me and putting himself between me and Audrey the whole time. "That dumb mutt … he probably chased the wolf for blocks …"

"Actually no, the dog alerted in the park and then the wolf attacked it. It already had a significant amount of blood on it and Jeffrey Collins was still alive and struggling. The wolf was positioned on a path that Audrey and Beau took every night." She gives me a very pointed look – she's thinking the same thing I am. I am the only one with an Asgardian connection, after all.

"We should have patrols going by Audrey's hospital on a regular basis … we should also put the police departments of LA, Atlanta, San Fran, and Rochester, New York on alert," I say, hoping we're barking up the wrong tree. She gives me a curious look, so I elaborate.

"Ben's got a really good job in Atlanta, Bobbi's doing some work at USC while she's on leave, and Tom's retired to Rochester, but I don't think it's going after him considering it started out closer to him and moved West." Bobbi's on maternity leave from S.H.I.E.L.D. – I guess her promotion to field agent is on hold for now. After the Chitauri invasion, my brother decided to just go ahead and retire from his accounting office in the Big Apple (he's seventeen years older than me) and go elsewhere to live out his golden years with his "friend" James. (We all politely pretend we don't know any better since Tom never came out to us, but James has a standing invitation to all family events Tom never lets him take.)

"And who's in San Francisco?" May asks curiously, and I know she's going to be annoyed so I steel myself a little.

"The last I heard, Whitney's in San Fran."  
"You think if someone's after you they'll go after your ex-wife?" she asks.

"They might," I say stiffly.

"Phil … for the love of God, I can't believe you're still hung up on her."  
"I'm not – but if someone is trying to rub things in my face that would be a good way to do it …"

"Then why do you know where she lives?"

"I looked it up after the funeral … I knew she came and brought her son, I just wanted to see what he looked like."

"Why?" Her eyes search my face – I know she's wondering if I thought he might be mine. No chance of that, I'm afraid.

"I just wanted to know, for my own reference. That's all."

"So what does he look like?"  
"Like her … only he's got the professor's eyes and hair," I say flatly.

"If it is about you …"  
"We should have guards on Audrey," I say. "Maybe she'll fall for whoever they send – make sure they don't send any of the losers from …" She plays it cool – a little too cool, and I stop myself.

"There was a man at the hospital. I don't think they've been seeing each other long but … They seemed pretty committed."

"Oh," I say flatly.

"I'm sorry."  
"It's fine – she thinks I've been dead for over two years now." I tell myself I don't care – I tell myself I should be glad. I'm never going to quit S.H.I.E.L.D. – I really never was, even when I was with her. She deserves to be happy – with someone who can really give themselves to her. I'd be selfish to feel anything else.

We can only watch as Simmons works, with a growing look of consternation on her face. Eventually, she turns on the intercom to ask us question. "Sir, what was the size estimate Fitz and I gave of this wolf, based on footprints?" I flip open my notes.  
"Roughly thirteen feet long and six feet tall at the shoulder, which you helpfully note is approximately four meters long and one point eight meters tall. Why?" This discussion seems ominous.

"Judging by these teeth marks and the known proportions of tooth size to overall body size of Earth wolves, this wolf was at two and a fifth meters tall at the shoulder and five meters long," she answers. So, the explanation I'm hoping for is that Asgardian wolves just have some wickedly long teeth, but the more likely explanation is that we're actually dealing with more than one wolf. Or that the same one has grown by almost three feet in length.

"We'll recheck the footprints while we wait for the DNA tests to run and see if the firsties found witnesses," I say evenly. If it's the same wolf, and it's growing – how big is it going to get?

The only answer to worrying is to catch it – assuming it's still an it and not them.

* * *

The sound of the thunder was so loud and close it rattled my bedroom window and woke me from a dead sleep, so I was already awake when little Ben started wailing. I rolled out of bed and hurried to his crib – inherited from me, placed where my brother Tom's bed used to be – to quiet him. "Philly!" Bobbi screamed from her room. "Grandma!" It was this desperate, wounded sound like she was being murdered – I couldn't calm Ben down so I decided to just carry him to her room. But before I could get out the door she had come running to me, and latched herself to my leg, sobbing. "Grandma's okay," I reassured her quickly, patting her head. "Its just thunder." I knew why she was scared – the night Emily died, there was a massive rainstorm. Poor little Bobbi was in the house with her body for hours until Emily's nurse made it through the debris late the next morning. She ran off to check for herself – I managed to get Ben calmed down and laying back down in his crib, sucking his little fingers to comfort himself through the loud sounds of the storm and his sister's hysteria. He was almost old enough for an actual bed – he'd probably just get my old fire engine bed.

I wasn't expecting Bobbi to race back into my room but she did – she came running and jumped up into my bed, climbing on top of me, burying her face in my shoulder like she was desperate to escape the sound. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's okay, Bobbi … it's just thunder …" I said again, probably uselessly. She whimpered, and I patted her back. "It's just thunder …" I got an idea, and I picked her up and went to my closet. I set her at my feet while I pulled an old box from the shelf at the top and back of the closet that had some of the things I put away to spare from Ben's exploration of the world via his little mouth. I took out my old teddy bear – a soft, yellow bear with a tiny shield with a star stitched on his belly – shook it a little to get the dust off, and handed it to her. She took it cautiously, not knowing why I gave it to her.

"This is Captain Fuzzy – he was my bear when I was your age," I said as I picked her back up. "Do you know who he's supposed to look like?" She shook her head, like I expected. "A long time ago there was a hero named Captain America with a special shield – he saved Grandpa one time. Fuzzy's shield will protect you from anything." I started to take her back to her room but she made a sound of protest, so I sighed and carried her over to my bed and set her down on the side by the wall and climbed in, letting her snuggle up to me.

"What is thunder?" she asked after a while when the thunder started to subside a little, and I was glad for the scientific question.

"The lightning makes the air get hot so all the air molecules heat up and expand, and it happens so fast it sets off a wave of vibrations … All sounds are vibrations, and in this case it's a _loud _sound."

"You are smart, Phillip," she said in awe, even though she couldn't have understood that … I sucked at finding the words to explain to her.

"If I was really smart I would have got the A in algebra," I deflected, hoping to keep her talking.

"How do they know that's what it is?"  
"Experiments I guess," I said softly.

"What if it's something else?" she asked, and looked up at me eagerly. And this time I knew she wanted a good story, and my mouth curved up in a smile.

"I don't know – maybe it really is Thor fighting the frost giants," I teased.

"What are frost giants?" she asked worriedly, and I knew that was a mistake.

"You don't have to worry about them, because Thor keeps them in line," I said quickly.

"Who's Thor?" And so on and so on with the questions it went, until she finally fell asleep.

When she had stopped talking a while and I was really sure she was asleep, I carefully carried her back to her bed and tucked her in. She stirred as I did, and I was afraid I'd undone everything. "Philly? Will you and Thor and Captain Fuzzy protect me from frost giants?" she asked sleepily.

"Every day," I answered, and kissed her on the forehead.

"Okay," she said groggily and rolled over, clutching Captain Fuzzy to her chest.

* * *

Ronnie Schuller was more manageable when he was by himself – when he didn't have anyone to "impress," with his antics. Sometimes I could catch him looking guiltily at the scars in the shape of a six-year-old's mouth on my hand, which were faded but still obvious (especially on my palm), and I never did the easy thing and use that to guilt trip him even though it was tempting.

I turned the key his mother gave me in the lock, tuning out his whining about the cold. I could have tried to placate him, assure him we were almost inside, but Ronnie didn't need anyone else placating him. He was starved for attention, even if it was negative – and I didn't give him any negative attention if I could help it. I was stern but never mean with him – it drove the little brat crazy. "What homework do you have?" I asked for the third time, since he had refused to answer me at the door of the school and again in the car.

"Not much," he hedged.

"What homework do you have?" I repeated, a little sharper that time.

"Just some math and reading," he said.

"What do you have to do for math and reading?" I asked.

"I have a worksheet," he admitted while not looking me in the eye as I tugged at his heavy winter coat.

"Uh huh – and what do you have for reading?"  
"Another worksheet." Still no eye contact.

"And?"

"I'm behind on my take-home book." The second-grade teacher had them take home books with short stories and they were supposed to read so many books a month, allegedly out loud to someone but I doubt Mrs. Schuller or her father ever heard much of it. They had to take a "quiz" on each one (which story was their favorite and what it was about, drawing a picture from their second favorite story, stuff like that that any kid who read it could do).  
"Uh huh. How much you got left?"

"Six stories."  
"When's it due?"  
"Tomorrow."  
"Well we're going to be busy then," I said firmly, internally bracing myself for at least a couple of hours of homework, as I hung up his jacket and he held out his hands. "You can take off your own mittens," I said, and ignored the ensuing whining and insistence he was not, in fact, capable of such even though I have seen him do it. I took off my own coat and gloves and stepped into the living room – almost as soon as I did I felt a presence. I tensed up, looking around the living room. "Ronny, stay right there," I said over my shoulder as I went through the house – I checked behind every bit of furniture and behind every corner in every room. I didn't see anyone, but my nerves didn't ease – I knew there was someone there. "Can I move now?" Ronny called, and he actually sounded worried. I knew there had been an edge in my voice when I told him to stay, so I quickly called back,

"Yeah, sure Ronny, it's fine."

Even while I helped Ronny with math ("You know how to do this Ronny, count it again") and listened to him read me sanitized versions of old folktales and legends, I kept my ears peeled, sure of what I had sensed when we walked in.

Finally, after much whining, the homework was done, and I let him watch TV for a couple of hours until bedtime and played checkers with him when he got bored of the TV – then, after yet more whining and complaining, I made him take his shower, take his allergy medicine, brush his teeth, and get in bed. Once he was in bed I went to start cleaning up – it looked like I could have the floors swept and the laundry started and still have two hours before Mrs. Schuller got back just to do homework. With any luck I'd be done by the time I got home.

"I've gotta say – I'm a little surprised to find out one of my applicants is a gentle babysitter," a man said from behind as I walked into the living room. I whirled on my heel to see a very tall, intimidating man I'd never seen before in my life. I lunged at him, thinking of the boy upstairs. He flipped me and I fell on my butt in seconds, but I tried to get up anyway, still running on adrenaline until I saw the S.H.I.E.L.D. badge. "Um … isn't it technically breaking a law to be here since Mrs. Schuller doesn't know you're here …" I started awkwardly.

"Technically yes," he answered smoothly, keeping his voice low. I got up and brushed myself off. "Agent Fury."  
"Phil Coulson," I said softly, matching his volume, and extended a hand, not knowing at all what to make of this impromptu visit. "And what can I say? No one's hiring high school kids and all the girls charge something like nine dollars an hour and don't even do chores. You should have seen me the last two summers – I had a whole little day camp thing going on." I had long since learned to just own it instead of getting offended when I get teased about working as a babysitter. There were still women that wouldn't even think about hiring me because – I didn't quite get it then because I was rather sheltered – they thought I was a pervert. But a lot of the single moms with little boys loved me – because they thought I was a good influence, I guess. That certainly was Mrs. Schuller's thought (her husband was killed in a car accident when Ronny was a baby) – I don't know how effective I actually was in his case but I had scars to prove I tried.

"I notice you left that off your resume."  
"I didn't think it would be of interest," I said. What are they going to ask me to do at S.H.I.E.L.D.? Babysit? I didn't bother with it. "Do you want to … I don't know, sit down?" He just looked at me, and I knew that wasn't an option so I just stood there, hoping Ronny heard none of this and trying not to fidget.

"Everything is of interest to us," he said evenly, and I nodded, taking that as a lesson. I knew I was in the running if one of their agents was here to talk to me, but I wanted to stay cool and not show I was freaking out with happiness. "Right now, for instance, I just found out that you're observant, that you're not a coward, and that I almost had to try to knock you on your ass." I blushed a little but otherwise didn't react to this. "I also know that you have some … interesting personal history." I felt my stomach tighten a little – I knew exactly what he meant.

"Do you mean when I died?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow, surprised I was so blunt about it. I'd had people ask about it all my life – wanting to know if I saw Heaven and about the gory details of how it happened. I was sort of famous in that little one-horse town for it.

"Yes – that is what I meant," he said without any hint as to what kind of answer he expected.  
"I don't know what to tell you. The crime was all in the police reports, and as for what I saw on the other side … I don't remember anything. I know I saw something because I felt …" In all these years, I never had found the words. "Small, in my body, and I felt this sense of loss like I had just lost the most precious thing I'll ever have." I couldn't read his reaction to that – it took me years to be able to read Fury, and even now I wouldn't want to play poker against him.

"Are you really going to tell me you walked out of that hospital with nothing but scars?"

"Well that's … It's pretty much why I applied to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"What's your backup plan?"

"Go in the army to pay for school and apply again, or failing that to join the FBI or whatever PD will take me when my tour and school is done," I answered without missing a beat – I'd memorized that back-up plan by heart. It was what I told myself every time I caught myself worrying about not getting in, which I knew was a long shot.

"If you just want to chase bad guys, why's S.H.I.E.L.D. your first choice?" I blushed again a little – if I started gushing over Captain America, he'd think I was an idiot. Just a little starstruck fanboy. So I was carefully measured in my response.

"Well … it was founded by Howard Stark and Peggy Carter, right?" He nods, cocking an eyebrow once again, no doubt curious where I'm going with this. "Well my … my dad was a POW at Krausberg … he was carried out by two other POWs because he was so weak he could barely walk. If Steve Rogers hadn't liberated those guys, there's no way he could have made it to the end of the war … I've always felt like I owed him, in a way. So … chasing bad guys for the organization his friends founded? Sounds like a dream job to me, sir." He smiled a little then – a mysterious half-grin that was more than a little ominous.

"I'll give the committee my recommendation," he said, and extended his hand once more. "If anyone asks, I was never here."  
"Of course, sir," I said, more loudly than I meant, hoping my hands didn't shake with excitement.

"Phillip? Who are you talking to?" Ronny called down the stairs, and I put a hand over my mouth and turned to go half-way up the stairs to call to him.

"No one, Ronny, it's the TV," I called, knowing that was going to cause me no end of grief because of Ronny whining he wanted to watch. When I turned back, Fury was gone.

* * *

**Author's Note II**

Yes, of course Loki is Jotun, but they don't know that. They just know he's "adopted." So their sample is even smaller than they think. Also realistically they wouldn't be able to do that since Thor and Loki both bled very little into an area rife with contamination and even with the very best sequencing technology they'd need more sample, but I figure in a fanfic for a TV show where Simmons was able to cure an alien virus in a matter of hours, realism was kind of out the window as it was.

Shameless Ultimate Spider-Man reference is shameless. (I don't even really like that show but Principal Coulson was just hilarious.)

I'm pretty sure they said no one has actually been confirmed as psychic before but honestly I kind of zoned on the first few episodes. It took a while for the show to hit its stride, and I mainly watched out of loyalty to Coulson. (He's a lot like my dad so I love the character. And yes that made writing a few scenes in this very hard and/or weird … you'll know them when you see them.)

Coulson seems to have a serious trigger about people breaking his trust and so I decided to be extra sadistic and give him a cheating ex-wife. It sucks to be a character I like in one of my fanfictions.

Also … voyeuristic Fury for the win! In all seriousness … I am going to try to be fair to the character (anyone who read my Hunger Games crossover fic "Something to Avenge" knows how well me trying to be fair to characters I don't like turned out for Gale, sarcasm) but Fury frequently comes off as more sinister than intended, at least to me. Especially if you have seen the aforementioned Ultimate Spider-Man cartoon, which gives me the same impression Chuck at SF Debris got of Kyubey. ("I'm starting to think he set this up just so he could watch teenagers fight while touching himself.")

Minimum wage in Pennsylvania in 1984 when I think Coulson would have been eighteen was $3.35/hour. So the girl babysitters were charging over twice that. I made him a babysitter because … at the risk of giving anything away the bratty kid is actually important later and because let's face it, babysitting is half of Coulson's job even with S.H.I.E.L.D. (I'm looking at you Tony.)

I know Coulson actually seemed kind of new to S.H.I.E.L.D. (not knowing what its acronym was) in _Iron Man_ but _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_. established Coulson was recruited in high school so I am just going to put that down to early installment weirdness. Personally I found Coulson being recruited at eighteen extremely eye-roll inducing (I had already written a rather long flashback in which he was an Army MP, since federal agencies usually require some kind of relevant field experience, and at the very least, most local police departments require a junior college degree … S.H.I.E.L.D. should not be easier to get into than Middle of Nowhere P.D.), but I decided to roll with it. It'll come into play later. This story has gone through a huge number of rewrites and I plan to post some of the alternate versions at the end of the story once it's finished for anyone who's interested.


	6. Chapter 5: Capture (Fen)

Chapter 5

Capture

Fen

**Author's Note**

Since we are now into season 2 of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. … I am going to ignore the heck out of it, possibly not even watch it until this story is posted. I have already done a ton of rewrites to keep up with continuity and artistic experimentation, if I keep rewriting it I'm going to be writing this story until I'm fifty. (The season premiere did change how I am going to handle something later on but not by much.) Plus I don't think it will be possible to keep it in line with canon considering they're introducing Mockingbird in a few episodes and I'll fall out of my chair in shock if they do what I do with her. (I'll be happy if they just manage not to screw it up though, considering they seem to write based off what the Internet wants and if you're a Mockingbird fan you know why that's terrifying, and the statement that she's "not an ally of Coulson" is not promising. I'm just going to anticipate them screwing her up for now so I can pleasantly surprised if they don't.)

* * *

Sif calls out to her brother, and once again I feel that disorienting sensation of being pulled very roughly through space. _That … that was fun … _I bluff as I stumble on landing. Sif politely ignores my stumbling.

"Thank you for your courageous service, Fenrir, you can return home now," she says, giving me a salute as though I'm a great warrior.

_I can't leave you now! _I object.

"Fen – your work is done," Sigyn tells me gently. "You need to go and recover – I'll send someone to …"  
_No! I want to see this through! I'll be good, I promise!_

"Fen, you've done more than enough," Sigyn says softly. "We can take it from here."  
_But I want to see this through! I fought for you – let me keep fighting._

"Where we go, we have need of diplomacy, not force," Sigyn explains.

_But I'm adorable, _I wheedle and roll over on my back. It would probably work a little better if most of my front and especially my muzzle weren't coated in dry blood and gore, but my powers of cuteness are not to be underestimated. Either that or Sif is just impatient – either way she sighs and asks,

"Sigyn, do you think the dwarves will object to his presence?"

"More than likely not," Sigyn says, relenting – my charms have been more effective on her, it would seem. "You can't speak to them Fen …"  
_Of course not! Why would I think it was acceptable to speak to them? _I ask, a little bit indignant. I'm not an idiot.

"They'll consider you a beast – can you be calm and obedient in the face of that?" Sigyn asks, and I nod. How exactly is this different from how I am treated here? "Very well – roll over and let me on your back once more," she orders. I'm confused by the order but do so – I roll over on my feet and let her climb on. I'm not sure I like being asked to do so – especially since she hesitated so when I asked her. All of the "mule" comments from the draugur come to mind, but I know this is the price of continuing on the quest, so I do not complain.

"Are you sure you want to go, Prince Fenrir? It will likely just be dull negotiations and then waiting at this point," Heimdall asks me.

_But you will go to battle directly afterwards? _I ask, looking to Sif.

"Yes, but you will not," Sigyn says sharply. "Your father would kill us."  
_Isn't he already going to be angry over taking me to the mines? I want to see this through! _

Sigyn starts to scold me, "Fen – war is not a game, and you are …"  
"He will come with us, to Nidavellir and to battle after that," Sif cuts in sharply.

"But Loki …"  
"We've already risked his wrath as it is. The boy has proven himself to be both brave and capable – let him continue to be useful," Sif argues.

"He has proven himself against creatures which feel nothing, not innocent men …" She pauses, catching herself before I know enough to be hurt. I knew she was upset when I killed the draugur, but I had no idea she was afraid of me. Why? Just because she knows I can kill people if I want? She must have known that all along – people are afraid of wild wolves, and I'm bigger than most of them. I know there are giant wolves too, but when I ask if I'm as big as them I get no answers. Does she think I'm a monster? "Fen … you're too young to see the harshness of war …"  
"Too young to face the draugur as well," Sif argues. "And he has faced that challenge more than admirably – I think we must take into account his unique nature." I don't like being treated as though I'm not here – and isn't this delaying longer? Isn't this the very thing we split up to avoid? And my unique nature? Why doesn't she just say I'm a wolf – I know I'm a wolf.

_Leave me if you will – I would not see this action delayed due to me, _I say and manage not to sound bitter.

"No, Fen – Sif is right," Sigyn says softly. "You have earned your place beside us, and I am wrong to try to deny you that." But she sounds so worried, and I can smell the tears in her eyes. I am very confused. Heimdall, who has watched all of this with quiet, neutral observation – did he watch us in the mines, or was he too occupied with the battle against Lorelei? – motions us to step inside the gate. I step forward with Sigyn on my back, ready to go to the dwarves, and then to battle to save my homeland and my family.

I wish I felt more excited about the prospect of glory and honor, maybe even recognition.

I really don't like the sensation of going through the Bifrost.

It's a little bit of a ride to the city where our dwarf master dwells from the place where the bridge dropped us – probably the only reason they didn't just leave both of us until time to return to battle. Sleipnir runs just fast enough that I can keep up with him even with Sigyn on my back – Sif took the metal we gathered from Sigyn, so at least I don't have that burden. We run until we come within view of a tall, alarming mountain and then Sleipnir slows to a leisurely trot, which I match at a run that requires much less panting. I recognize a bluff when I see it, and I try very hard to get the panting under control.

At the base of the mountain, there's an iron gate of magnificent craftsmanship – intricate yet threatening spires come off it in ways that must have required meticulous work – with two dwarf guards behind it. The thought of going into mountains again so soon is a bit disconcerting, but I hold my head high and maintain the bluff. The dwarf guards have a strong, earthy smell – coarser than any race I've smelled before, but not unpleasant. They are very broad and a little more than half of Sif's height. They wear heavy chain mail armor which is also intricately made – with alternating colors of rings.

The dwarves who are waiting for us don't flinch at the sight of the gore on Sif's sword and all over my muzzle and down my front. Diplomatic niceties are exchanged – Sigyn climbs down from my back and Sif dismounts from Sleipnir and both bow. The dwarves seem mildly amused by the trick Sleipnir and I both know – we "bow" when our riders do by extending our front legs in front of us and lowering our heads. They summon several servants to the gate.

"Please, my lady, allow us to take your noble steeds to be groomed and rested while we offer you hospitality as our craftsman works," one of the servants, a young dwarf man, says with a bow. "We shall take the handsome stallion to the stables and this beautiful wolf to the dining hall once he has been cleaned – we would house him with the other mounts but it is likely his scent would frighten the other horses." That's probably true – the horses kept at the royal stables are used to me, but strange horses always get frightened around me.

"Thank you for this courtesy – I am certain they will appreciate it," Sigyn says and pats me on the head.

"All though, Lady Sigyn – I must first ask if the wolf is tame …" I'm not sure I like that phrasing.

"He is very sweet – he'll be no trouble to anyone," Sigyn says, and she says the last bit almost warningly in my direction. I definitely don't like that, but I make no comment.

A beautiful young dwarf woman leads me into the cavernous halls of the dwarves and it couldn't be more different from the mines where we have just done battle – they are warm and inviting, well lit by numerous lighting devices and fireplaces. The halls are busy and full of people, many of whom stare at us. Who can blame them? I am huge, after all, even more noticeably among these tiny people. We come to a little room with several faucets along the walls and a drain in the middle of the floor where several people are waiting – they smell very frightened at my presence, so I just stand as still as I can, except for my wagging tail, and try to look as nonthreatening as possible. The servants run hot, scented water (it smells like something I can't identify, but it's light and pleasant and not overbearing) over my fur and carefully scrub away the gore and blood from my fur. They're so careful it doesn't pull my fur or hurt at all. It actually feels really good. Then they dry me off with fluffy towels and comb out my fur, again so gently it doesn't hurt, and by the end I am looking better than I have in a while.

They lead me to a dining hall, currently empty due to the odd hour of the day, and a cook comes out from the kitchens carrying a huge platter of raw meat. I hesitate, since all the meat I've ever eaten has been cooked, but when I bite into the tender, juicy raw flesh, I immediately prefer it this way. I am a wolf after all. Sigyn and Sif enter, still dirtied by the battle, and both of them note the state of the meat. Sigyn starts to call to the cook but Sif puts a hand on her shoulder and stops her. "He doesn't mind, Sigyn." In a few moments the cook emerges anyway, and places a hearty stew and some delicious smelling bread before them.

_Ah, now that I can think again … _Sleipnir's voice startles me, and I almost respond without thinking. _Find one of the women's minds. _I want to ask how, but of course I can't. _Just close your eyes and try to ignore your nose – reach out for her mind. Think about her and everything she is. You'll find it. It's easier than you think._

I try it once and fail, so I finish eating and allow the servant to wipe my mouth, then lay at Sif's feet and try, for some time, to do as Sleipnir says.

Suddenly, I do. It's very odd, I have a hard time describing the sensation – but I'm aware of Sif's presence in a way that can't be explained by smell or any other usual sense. _How long before it's ready? _I ask her.

"Fen, you know better," she whispers sharply, since the servants are still here. Sigyn looks up at her puzzled. Sleipnir was right – this is easy.

_I really didn't mind the state of the meat, Sigyn – in fact I may prefer it, _I say after I find her, and then just lay there trying to look innocent when she looks down at me in surprise, but my tail wags very smugly.

"You're being a very good boy, Fen," she says and pats my head, and gives me some of her bread. I'm not supposed to eat bread and things like that – just meat – but she knows I like the taste of it, and she probably wants to remind me there's a boy inside the wolf. "And you only have to be good for a few more hours." My head perks right up at that. _But … but that's forever!_ I whine to her. Who knows what could be happening on the front! She gives me another piece of bread to cover that very un-wolfish action, and I lay back down and don't question anything else.

When Sif and Sigyn have had their fill, servants show them to some very nice bedchambers to have a rest. There's two soft beds, big enough a frost giant could comfortably lay in them, and dressers for the women to put away their things, and at one end of the room there is a deep basin for drawing baths. Sif, as soon as the servants have left, peels off her outer armor and lays on a bed in her underclothes. Sigyn instead goes over to the tub and starts to draw water. "Sigyn," Sif moans.

"What?"  
"We're going to get dirty again in just a few hours."  
"Then grant me those few precious hours of cleanliness," Sigyn shoots back. "Fenrir, turn your back."  
"Oh for pity's sake, Sigyn …"  
"I mean it!" she tells me, and I do as I'm told – I hop on the bed besides Sif, thrilled to have a bed big enough to lay in again, and look away from Sigyn.

"Ugh. Hi Fen," Sif says wearily and drapes an arm over my neck.

After a while, as Sif drifts off, I get curious. I have never seen a naked woman – only naked men. I know people wear clothes and I'm curious about what the big deal is. I lift my head and look at Sigyn, bathing. I can't see much, so I lay back down until I hear her climbing out of the tub. Then I look up again, and I am very unimpressed. But she sees me looking and gets upset with me, crossing one arm over her breasts and placing the other over her womanly parts. "Fenrir! I will tell your Grandmother on you!" she shouts at me and I duck my head down. The shouting stirs Sif, who groans.

"Sigyn, he's just a boy, and a wolf besides – he doesn't know any better," she says, annoyed.

"I'll teach him a lesson he'll never forget if he tries that again," Sigyn answers sharply.

_I'm sorry … I was just curious, _I apologize, lifting my head but keeping my eyes shut tight. _I don't understand – why do people get upset about not wearing clothes? I understand when it's cold or when you're fighting, since you don't have very much fur… but what's the big secret? _That question seems to disarm her, and the argument is ended.

"Fen, I am sorry – Sif is right, I overreacted," she says, and I hear the rustling as she puts on her underclothes once more. "But when you're older you'll understand … no woman wants to be gazed upon naked by a man without her permission."

_So … why would she give her permission? _I ask, confused, opening my eyes and she blushes and Sif stifles a laugh.

"Oh Fen – we really have to talk to your father. He has so much to explain to you," Sif teases and ruffles my fur. This is getting really old.

* * *

I'm almost not bothered by the Bifrost this time – we return to our world now, to fight a battle on our own planet. To my surprise we are not in front of the city and nowhere near the main gate – but of course Heimdall wanted us to be closer to the battle at Borghild. "How goes the battle, Heimdall?" Sif calls into the sky as I'm still struggling to stay on my feet. She raises her voice to be heard, but asks coolly, still downplaying her fears.

"I would recommend, sister, that you hurry," his voice answers from the other end of the gate just as coolly, even though I can only assume that means "not well."

"We will go swiftly," Sigyn says, her voice betraying fear unlike her friend.

Sif takes the collar – if anyone can get close enough, it's her. Sigyn plans to join the other mages on the front line, trying to minimize the necessity of physical harm to those of our men who have been taken over by Lorelei's siren call. _Will I go with you, Sif? _I ask eagerly. That sounds exciting – going behind the lines on a daring quest to take down the source of evil spreading across the land.

"No – you will watch over Sigyn in her work," Sif tells me. "Your courage will be needed there."

_But won't all the danger be far away from there? _I ask, very suspicious she's setting me off to the side, shuffling me away from danger.

"Far from it – in addition to the archers sighting them from afar, there are many among Lorelei's ranks who are possessed of great stealth and, well … we're not the best at combat as it is," Sigyn says nervously. I know she still doesn't want me here.

"Your nose will smell any enemy when they're still far off and you can guard the mages while they work," Sif says as she reaches down to pat my head. Magic often takes intense concentration – I can see why they're vulnerable, especially since most of them haven't been trained for combat, not really. I'm happy to stand guard over them while they work.

_I wish you luck on your quest, Sif. End this war for us._

"And to you, little wolf – guard my friend well," she says with a smile and urges Sleipnir forward.

_Be careful, brother. Take care of her for me._

_You should worry more about yourself, little wolf. Be as fierce with living men as you were with the draugur._

I take those words to heart as Sigyn tells me where I need to go.

I make my way with Sigyn on my back through a wooded area and up a steep hill – she says it leads to an overlook where several of her classmates have gathered to generate barriers between the shield maidens and the men Lorelei has captured. _If you can do that, why is there any need for bloodshed at all?  
_"Because Lorelei has mages too," Sigyn says. "They work against us – if any of them find us it will be a direct battle between us." I haven't even heard that much about magic battles – there's not as much place for it on Asgard, where magic is mostly a woman's craft and most women don't have a place on the battlefield, except for Sif. Maybe that will change after this … it has been to our detriment in this war thus far.

_I am glad that not very many people have Lorelei's powers. _It would be a scary world where anyone could do what she does … all though if lots of people could maybe they would keep each other in check.

"And on that, Fen, you're mistaken – many of the women among my people have similar powers, but most have the morality not to use them."

_Can you? _I ask, and I'm not sure why that makes me nervous. Her silence is an answer – I guess we've both grown to understand the other has more power to harm than we thought. I still trust her – I hope she realizes she can still trust me.

I smell tension and fear as I climb the hill – that's not unexpected but then … I catch the scent of blood and several people who most likely shouldn't be here. I thought it was coming from the distant battlefield at first – but as I get closer I realize it's just at the top of the hill.

_Sigyn, is Father with this contingent?_ I ask.

"No – he is one of the few who can do direct battle so he is on the field," she says, and then feels the way I tense up and raise my hackles at that revelation. "Do you smell him?"  
_Yes. He and several soldiers._

"Turn around slowly and go as quickly as you can and still be quiet," she whispers.

_All right. How did she get Father? He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the front! _

She doesn't answer – there will be time enough for answers later. I turn around and start to head down the hill as quickly as I can without being loud – on wolfen paws that's easier than you might think, despite my size.

But it's too late anyway – I run nose first into a force field. It stings really badly, making my whole face go numb. _Are you all right Sigyn? _I ask.

"I'm fine – Fen maybe …" The force field contacts me again – it's moving back and boxing us in. I stand on hind paws while Sigyn clings on for dear life and put my paws against the highest I can reach – and now my paws are numb too. Even once I regain feeling I don't think it will be wise to risk jumping. Stumbling over numb paws, I turn around and start to walk back up the hill, as slowly as I can and never feel anything worse than a slight tingling in my tail. I keep my head low and I snarl, trying to look as threatening as possible.

Father is definitely here – and I don't think the fact I smell no fear from him is a good sign. _Sigyn … I … I don't think I can hurt Father … not even to protect you … _I confess worriedly, while still keeping the snarl on my face.

"I know, Fen, I know," she says comfortingly and strokes my ears. "I wouldn't expect you to – I'm not helpless, you know. I'd never be a match for him – not on a good day – but the men affected by her have their reflexes slightly dulled, hopefully just enough to give me an edge over him. I won't hurt him, I promise – only put him to sleep for a while."

_Do you mean knocking him unconscious? Because that would be okay too as long as he woke up all right._

She almost laughs until we see them – Father and five other men, all of the others being soldiers armed to the teeth and stained in blood. I recognize Haldor by his earthy scent among them – I find him with my eyes and see he's covered in blood like the rest. He's somewhat short next to the others, but he's broad-shouldered and strong, and keeps his jet black hair shorter than most. There are two archers in the group but both of them keep their arrows sheathed – they haven't been ordered to kill Sigyn on sight.

"Why would you bring Fen here?" Father demands of Sigyn. She doesn't answer with words, only a quick incantation under her breath and a little gesture. He catches it just in time, saying another incantation to build a shield around himself. The five soldiers lunge forward and I snarl and lunge back – I'm able to bite the halberd one of them is carrying by the pole and swing him away from me into another soldier.

"Stop! Don't hurt him!" Father calls out and they all step back and look between him and me curiously. He has that much of himself, to protect me, at least.

"Why not, Prince?" Haldor asks, his sword still raised at me.

"Your lady will like him," Sigyn says quickly, sliding down from my back, and I decide to play along with whatever she says. "He is fierce yes … but he can be quite adorable," she says and scratches my ears. Taking my cue, I wag my tail and turn into the scratching while looking as cute as possible and making soft, pleased sounds almost like a cat purring. "And anyway – I suspect you have orders to take me alive, and I do not intend to allow this unless the wolf is unharmed."

"Listen to her – take the wolf as well," Father says quickly – my heart hurts to see him like this, but at least he's alive and unharmed for now. But what will become of us?

One of the soldiers starts to climb on my back but father snaps at him. _Father, you're calling attention to our relationship, _I tell him, speaking only to him. He looks up at me in shock so I quickly add, _Sleipnir taught me to speak to only one person. Don't be angry Father – just get on my back so none of the others will, or let Sigyn ride me back. _He nods to me. "Let the lady ride him," he tells the soldiers.

"But Prince …"  
"Do it!" One of them slips a piece of rope over my head and another slides some around my snout as Sign starts to climb back on – I have never been muzzled or leashed so I am not used to it. Instinctively I thrash my head and step away, only to feel the rope around my neck choking me. "No no, Fen, don't struggle," Father pleads softly, putting a hand on my shoulder. I force myself to be still as they tie the rope around my neck and cut off a length of the rope and tie it around my snout so that I can't open my mouth. I have to force myself not to try to rub it off with my paws … it just feels so unnatural. They tie another rope around my neck so I can be held onto by two men and if I struggle too much I'll choke myself.

"Oh Fen I'm so sorry, I knew we shouldn't have brought you," Sigyn whispers softly in my ear as the soldiers who have my leash start to lead me on.

_I begged to come, my lady. I would rather meet my end here trying to protect you than old and alone without Father, _I say just to her, and immediately smell the scent of tears and feel a single one fall into my fur, but she doesn't say anything else.

We march on for almost an hour – down the hill we were on and through some woods over many more hills. All of this is taking the long, back way to a single castle on the highest hill – the fort at Borghild, which was taken by Lorelei when the war began and is now her base of operations. All the way I think of wilder and wilder plans, less and less likely to work – if I could slip the ropes, I am fast, but the archers could put arrows in me before I got very far. The back road we take to the fort is long and winding – it's also steep and treacherous. My wolfen feet are sure but several times the men stumble – I consider attempting to slip my noose and run since the men could surely not match me on foot in this terrain, but I am not sure I could guarantee Sigyn's safety against Father and the archers. Near the top of the hill, the road finally turns so that we can see the battle below – I gaze at it but see hardly anything, but take in all I can with smell. In the distance I smell blood and fear and pain, and hope that Sif's mission succeeds. I try to find her scent but of course that would be quite a feat with all the other warriors on the battlefield below.

We reach the fort doors – heavy iron doors, guarded by half a dozen bewitched soldiers. "Why have you brought this creature, Loki?" one of them asks.

"I believe he will be of service to our lady," Father answers. I wag my tail and nod – the guard who had asked looks at me curiously but doesn't say anything. The doors open and the band of us go through into the castle, which is dark and musty – I can barely see anything, and most of what I smell is either the blood and sweat from the soldiers or mildew.

Father leads us up a steep, somewhat perilous staircase towards the keep. _I guess we're going to meet her for ourselves, _I tell Sigyn. She doesn't answer.

I don't know what I'm going to do.


	7. Chapter 6: Secrets (Sigyn)

Chapter 6

Secrets

Sigyn

I am surprised to see the Allfather in the healing room so frequently – it is obvious he finds any excuse to come. At first I assumed it had to do with the tragic scene I witnessed after the dark elves attacked – when he brought his wife here, knowing she was already dead but in desperate hope that he was wrong. Under any other circumstances, the death of the queen would have been an all-consuming grief – she was my (albeit distant) kinswoman and my teacher for many, many years, and always exceedingly kind to me. Only the death of my husband could overshadow such a loss.

I was the one who thought to send someone to tell Loki – by then it was days later, and I stopped in the middle of rearranging some potions, in a sudden sweat, sick to think that no one may have thought to tell him. Thor was never good for thinking of that sort of thing and Odin … Odin was still angry with him, understandably. I likely sent him to his death – Loki left with his brother to avenge their mother the day after she and the others killed in the siege were laid to rest, and never returned.

No one mourned publically this time – as far as most of the nation is concerned, he's been dead to us since he tried to destroy Jotunheim. We mourned him then, and I suppose to most of them that's all they needed. I drank to him seven days later in my own chambers, trying to keep the tears from my eyes, and said a prayer to his daughter for his soul, with hands folded over a little fire in my hearth. "Oh blessed and lovely Queen Hela, have mercy on your wayward father. He did many evil things, things which I know are unforgiveable, but even so, I pray that you'll have mercy on his soul in Hel." I can't even bring myself to think about the alternative – even though he probably deserves it, I couldn't sleep at night if I thought Loki was being tormented in Nifleheim. "I pray you bear him my love. Many of those I love are in your care, and I thank you for watching over them." But not the one I miss the most – my beloved's soul is in Valhalla, where I shall never reach him. It is a great honor, I remind myself every time I have the thought. Maybe he is finally happy there – maybe the thoughts of what the siren did to him are finally gone in that battlefield paradise.

My attention is called away from the prayer by the sound of Váli's tears – I lift him from his crib and comfort him as best I can. "It's all right little one," I say softly, rocking him gently. He's proven capable of grief even at his tender age – he was always a quiet child until the battle, but now he wails for seemingly no reason, trying to call his papa back and not understanding why I am the only one to respond. "Oh my sweet Váli … you have no idea what you lost that day," I say softly as my tears fall onto his cheek.

* * *

I remember when Loki and I were children – the first time we met was while I learned from his mother. I had just come from my home world to learn magic under Queen Frigga, and of course this prompted an introduction to both the boys, who were only about a hundred years older than me. Even then, at the tender age of six hundred, the difference between the twins was startling, not just in appearance, but in manner. Thor was the ideal of his people – strong, brave to the point of rashness, an eager and skilled warrior. Loki was the ideal of mine – intelligent, scholarly, skilled in magic, reserved – I immediately, to his annoyance I think, latched onto him because he seemed familiar compared to the other Aesir. I always wanted to play with him, and could rarely be persuaded to go play with the other children unless he was there too. He didn't like to play with the others, so often this involved me annoying him by following him – I was a century younger, a difference that seems so much greater to little children than it does to adults, and I cried far too easily. Even so, he tolerated me – probably on orders from his mother.

Eventually, I started to befriend Sif, as she was a friend of his brother's and similarly disinclined to talk incessantly of boys and dresses, though she was a little warrior and I a little scholar. (Occasional conversations about the former were acceptable – dresses, never.) This friendship was cemented one day when she held Loki down for me so I could steal a kiss despite his protests. I kissed him on the lips and he blushed, silent for a moment, before quickly wiping his mouth and making a sound of disgust, even though he was still blushing. Then Sif kissed him too and he did the same with her – blushing and almost smiling before remembering he wasn't supposed to like it. Thor stood by and laughed uproariously at his brother's plight, but fled and cried out for his brother when Sif and I chased him so she could do the same. (He proved more evasive than his brother and managed to escape unkissed, that day at least.)

I can't say when it was that the tables turned, and he was the one who wanted me – certainly not when he got old enough to notice girls, as the existence of his children attests. I'd like to think it wasn't just because of Theoric … all though maybe it was. Maybe it was jealousy, maybe it took knowing someone else noticed me to realize what he felt for me.

I'm sure there were signs, but I was naïve and missed them completely. Until that night – the night it was made painfully clear. We were in the royal library late at night, working out a task his mother had given us, but he was distracted, as he always was, by the hunt for the solution to Fen's plight. "Loki – we can look again after this task is ended," I said as I gently pried the book he had fallen asleep reading out of his hands, trying to guide him back to the task at hand. "Then we will have all the time in the world for it."

"What would I do without you?" he asked with a weary sigh, but smiled up at me as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. That smile could have lit the way in the darkest of caves.

"Evidently, fail your mother's tasks," I teased, but he ignored me.

"Do you really love him?" he asked, looking more serious, and it was so out of nowhere I thought he meant Fen, since that was closer to the topic at hand.

"Of course I do – he's a sweet boy and I couldn't try to help him more if he was my own flesh and …"

"Not Fen," he cut me off quickly, and I knew immediately what was coming.

"You mean Theoric? Why do you think I'm marrying him?" Father had pitched a fit about it … Theoric was just a "lowly" knight in the order of Crimson Hawks, and he thought I could do "better." I am not sure why Loki thinks I would defy my father for anything other than love.

"I just … he's so … not good enough for you," Loki said, stumbling over words, apparently trying to find an inoffensive way to put it and failing horribly. "I don't mean his station," he added quickly, which only left me fuming over what other qualities he may have found lacking in my fiancé. "I just thought you would marry someone … more scholarly. Go back to Vanaheim to find a mage or …" he hesitated, but I knew what he was going to say.

"If you wanted to be more than friends, Prince, perhaps you should have said something before I was engaged to someone else," I said, trying not to sound too angry. I only called him Prince when I was angry enough to be formal.

"That's not what I meant," he tried to lie to me, giving me a look like I was being ridiculous.

"Isn't it?" I asked, and seeing he was found out he looked almost apologetic.

"Forget I said anything – I would see you happy more than anything."  
"And you think I'll be happy with someone not good enough for me?"  
He looked cowed by that. "Definitely forget I said that – that sounded much worse aloud than it did in my head."

I couldn't tell if he was sincere or not, but either way I softened my tone. "You would sacrifice your happiness to see mine?" I asked, a little incredulous.

"There is an edge of selfishness in it too … I value your friendship enough that I would sacrifice a chance at something more to maintain it," he said smoothly. "But yes, in a heartbeat."

I felt blood run to my cheeks, and I was sorry for my earlier hot-tempered reaction. "For whatever it's worth … if I didn't love him …"  
"At the risk of being curt, I would rather not dwell on might have been, Lady Sigyn," he said, and the formality stung. I didn't like the taste of my own medicine after all.

"Very well – let us pretend the last five minutes did not transpire," I said quickly. To which he pretended to go back to sleep in the book, which made me laugh a little in spite of everything.

And now they're both gone – and I'll likely never see either one of them ever again, even in death.

No. I will see Loki again one day. Loki is in Hel – he has to be. His own daughter wouldn't …

I cannot bear to think about it.

* * *

Once again, the king has found his way here to the hospital wing almost at the end of the night – when I am nearly ready to go home to my sweet boy. It can no longer escape my attention that he is here to see me – and I have no idea what I would say if he ever made his affections overt. What will befall me if I am honest? Will he understand and not take offense when I say that loyalty to his now dead son and wife could never let me see him that way, even if my tastes did run to older men, which they do not? (It would probably be best to leave the latter part out of the explanation.) I can only hope that my sister healers Astrid and Tara …

Do not intentionally leave early with no warning to me so that I am entirely alone with him for the first time in my life. Curse them. I try to busy myself with looking over the only patient on the ward – a young boy sleeping off a healing potion for some badly broken bones after an unfortunate riding incident – but that excuse won't last long. "What service can I offer my king?" I ask, in the most professional tone I can muster, just as my sister healers did when he came in.

"I wish to speak with you, Lady Sigyn, alone if possible," he answers, which of course was exactly what I was dreading. He usually lingers at the edge of the room, but in this case he's stepped close enough that I'm boxed in by the hospital beds.

"No one shall enter this ward until morning, unless an emergency arises," I answer honestly, despite wanting, very much, to lie and try to put off being alone with him for a while. "And this young man is under the influence of medicine which produces extreme drowsiness as a side effect and could likely sleep through another invasion."

"That is good – then I would speak to you if you will allow it." As though I can refuse my king.

"I will, my lord."

"There is no need for such formality, not from you," he says with a wave of the hand, which only makes me feel even more uncomfortable.

"What did you wish to speak to my about, my …" I catch myself before I call him my lord, since I was just told I did not need to be formal with him.

"I hope you will forgive my intrusions these last few weeks – forgive an old man's need to be near one who reminds him of his wife and son." Now why doesn't that make me feel any more at ease?  
"It is no intrusion, my … it never bothered me," I say even though that's the exact opposite of what I actually feel.

"I watch you toil over patients and I remember all the hours you spent with my son, both of you bent over your books, working at the studies his mother set for you and seeking the remedy to his sons' condition …"  
"You will forgive me, Allfather, if I ask you not to speak of Fenrir and Jorgumunder to me," I say, swallowing my anger. Especially Fen – to hear him speak of Fen makes my blood boil. It has also not escaped my notice that he has stepped closer with almost every word so that he is now uncomfortably close. He seems surprised by my reaction to that – but he keeps talking with no sign of being flustered by my words.

"You were so loyal to Loki, always – would I be wrong to hope that you were one of the few who mourned him, even knowing what he was?" Those words are a dagger in my heart – he has to ask?

"Yes," I say softly, and by now he's close enough that I almost want to step back but I resist. "If I can be so bold, you were wrong to disown him."  
"You know what he did – on Earth and to Jotunheim," he answers, not sounding anywhere near as angry as I expected.

"I know his actions were unforgiveable. But I also know he was raised by people who taught him to hate everything he was …" The Aesir don't understand why I cringe when I hear them teach their children rhymes about the Jotuns or even the dark elves – I don't forget for a moment my people were once their enemies as well, and it's a vile thing to me, to teach children to fear and hate everyone of a given race. Some part of him must understand that – after all, he had compassion on a suffering Jotun child, enough to bring him home.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks, more sharply, and I could curse myself for my stupidity in saying that. Loki's heritage is still a secret, though a badly kept one.

"I mean that … His magic and knowledge were never as valued as …"  
"Oh – you meant that too, but I think you meant something else, primarily?" he says, almost playfully. That expression is not one I have seen from him, all though I never knew him well. It almost looks like …

"It's only gossip," I say quickly. I overheard two guards gossiping about it – one of them claimed to have overheard an argument between Odin and Loki about … his heritage. But I don't say that – I don't want one of them to be in trouble if it's true. "I would have dismissed it if … If it didn't make so much sense."  
"Why does it make sense?" he asks, and sounds almost offended at that.

"It explains why … why he had such an affinity for the cold, why even in the warm castle his skin felt cold to the touch, why he was so very different from his brother … if I was compelled to venture a guess I would say he was only half Jotun and half elf, and that would explain even more. It was easy for me to believe, for that reason."

"Half elf?" he asks, puzzled.  
"His face had an elvish look to it, but perhaps that is the bias of hindsight." He pauses, considering that, and I finally take a breath and dare to step back. "And anyway – there is no way of knowing what befell him in the wide universe, between then and his capture … his scars were terrifying …"  
"You saw his scars?" he asks, but instead of sounding accusing he … almost smirks. I blush furiously.

"Only the ones on his arms – I visited him in his cell and he showed them to me."  
"How many times did you visit him?"  
The question is so loaded, I have to close my eyes to hide the fact my eyes have gone damp with the sudden pain of it. "Only … only twice. It should have been more," I say, after taking a deep breath, trying not to show my regret. "A friend deserved more." While my eyes are closed, I hear a footstep and try to step back, but back into the empty bed. "Why does this matter to you, my lord?" I demand, opening my eyes – only to gasp at what I see.

"Shhh," Loki says as he covers my mouth to stifle the cry of surprise that arose automatically in my throat. Tears spill from my eyes and I give no effort to stifle them as I gaze at the friend I've lost twice now, here before me in the flesh. I put my hand over his hand on my mouth and kiss his palm, which encourages him to move it to my cheek and grasp my hand. His other arm goes around my waist and the closeness that made me so uncomfortable just moments ago is a terrible gulf I'm happy to see closed as he pulls me into an embrace. I'm so small that I'm a head and shoulders shorter than him – I'm more than happy to hear his heartbeat in my ear as I rest my head against his chest. "Am I dreaming?" I ask. "Don't wake me up if I am," I say.

"You're not dreaming," he says and strokes my hair. And all at once, joy turns to anger as quickly as discomfort and regret had turned to joy. I pull away and slap him.

"What are you doing? What have you done with your father? How could you do this to us? _Twice_?" I ask in a harsh whisper. I slap him again and he only flinches a little but seems to accept this.

"Odin is alive – he is safe."  
"Show me," I whisper sharply. Now that I know what is at stake I speak in whispers – even though I know he probably has yet another terrible scheme in progress, I cannot overcome my urge to protect him.

"Not yet – not until you know what I am doing and why," he says, and the look in his eyes is so desperate I have to believe there is more to his side of the story. "I will not speak of it here – in case someone comes in unexpectedly," he says, taking back his father's form. "Can I trust you to remain silent until you have heard my say?"

Against my better judgment, I nod.

"Very well. When is your work ended tonight?"

"Just before dawn – where shall I go then?"

"Go to your quarters when your shift is ended – relieve whoever tends your son and then go to the east library. No one will be there. I will send someone to tend your son until you return." With that he leaves – I almost ask him to stay a while.

I sink into one of the beds, trying to process what has just happened. I should raise the alarm now, I'm party in his treason for not doing so. Why do I still believe him after all he's done?

At least partially because I want to – perhaps that makes me a fool.

The last hour of this dreary night shift trudges by, with no company but the soundly sleeping boy. I turn over every possibility in my mind – can he have a good reason for this after all? Is he just unhinged by his self-loathing and the horror that befell him when he fell through space? Is the Allfather really safe? If I need to … who will believe me if I tell them, and is there anything I can do to gain Loki any measure of mercy if they do?

Of course it's my luck that this is the morning that Mara and Alric are both late – when Alric finally arrives I almost run back to my quarters (all though I try not to hurry until I'm out of his sight to avoid rousing suspicion). I find Syril, the thousand-year-old girl who watches him while I am on duty, sleeping soundly next to Váli's crib, with Váli as well tended as he always is. I gently wake her and send her home. Before long, a servant girl I've never met arrives – she looks confused about why she's here, and normally I would be loathe to trust anyone I don't know with Váli, but I see little choice this time. I promise he's a good boy, and promise him I'll be back soon even though he is too little to understand, and then leave for the east library. Again, I have to force myself not to run.

At this hour, there's no one here – I wander the aisles for a moment. I feel a hand tapping on my shoulder and I turn around to see a stranger and jump until he speaks with Loki's voice. "I couldn't well walk the halls as myself or the Allfather, could I?" he teases me, and I throw my arms around him and give a sigh of relief.

At this hour we will most likely be alone – even the magic students and healers-in-training will be in the west or north libraries pouring over magic and science books, not in the dusty old east library with it's very, very dull history books. Even so we go to the back and he retains his disguise and we speak in hushed tones.

"I thought you were dead – I thought you were dead twice," I say harshly.

"I know – I'm sorry but it was the only way," he says tenderly, brushing my hand with his. I try to ignore the way that makes me feel. "You don't know … I wish I didn't know, I'm sorry to have to tell you but you're the only one I trust to help me in this quest." I'm nervous – he sounds like a madman.

"What is this quest you speak of?" I ask.

"You have to understand what I saw on the other side, when I … fell …" he starts.

"You told me about the madman," I say softly. The purple tyrant – the courter of death.

"I didn't tell you about his plans," he says.

"Other than sending you to take over Midgard?" I ask, again bitterly.

"I didn't tell you _why _he was willing to give me Midgard." My heartbeat speeds up a little – this doesn't sound good.

"Why is that?"  
"He's planning to take the rest of the universe – he didn't have much interest in a backwater little planet like Midgard. I had hoped … to slam the door in his face and halt his plans … or failing that to bring you and those few I love to Earth for safety." I study his face searching for any sign of deception – but of course he's always been an accomplished liar. Do I really believe him … or do I just want to?

"How does he think he will do this?" I ask skeptically.

"He spoke of a gauntlet with settings for jewels that would each grant incredible powers, and together mastery of reality itself …" That sounds far too fantastic to be true – there are plenty of powerful artifacts but that sounds ridiculous. "A right-handed silver gauntlet with settings for six gems – does that sound familiar?" I feel a little sick at that – I have seen that. Once or twice I've been given entry to the Allfather's vaults, neither of them happy occasions, and each time I've hurried by a seemingly simple gauntlet and wondered why it required such guarding.

"But it can't be that powerful …" I protest.

"The mind gem alone allowed me to control any Midgardian I touched with it," he answers. I had wondered how he accomplished this when Heimdall told me of it … That was never an ability he had before. It's not an ability I think anyone has outside my people … or at least I did. "The Tesseract is another."

"What does that have to do with …"  
"I tried to warn the Allfather … but he would not listen to me. He had the Tesseract and planned to obtain the Aether from the mortal girl's body – it is too dangerous to have two of them together, along with the gauntlet. Having even one is dangerous – two would surely draw him here. I do not plan to make his destruction of the universe any easier of a quest to undertake."

"Why couldn't you tell anyone else? Someone else could have convinced him – your mother …"  
"He never listened to Mother – if he had, do you think I would have been kept in the dark so long about my heritage?" I have no counterargument to that. "And anyway – she was not allowed to see me. Every time she did, it was only in defiance of his will." That makes me feel sick – how could any father order such a thing?

"But Loki this is … what are you going to do? What have you done with him?"  
"I've already sent off the Aether, and I will let my scepter stay where it lies on Earth and prepare both Earth and Asgard for battle. As for the Allfather, I told you – nothing. I saw my chance when Thor took me to Svartalfheim, and I took it. Odin sleeps, as he does in the Odinsleep, and will remain asleep until I rouse him."

"Show me," I demand.

He concentrates for a moment and with a wave of his hand, he opens a portal so that I can see into some kind of stone chamber where the Allfather lays asleep on a bed which emanates a soft golden glow – he definitely appears alive. "Take me to him," I say slyly – I'll have a better chance convincing someone to believe me if I know where the Allfather is.

"I will not."  
"How can I be sure you're not lying? That this isn't an illusion?" I ask.

"You can't – but I won't make you party in my treason," he says flatly, one hand on my shoulder.

"Because you don't trust me?" He doesn't know that he shouldn't. He's not the only liar in the room.  
"Because I love you," he says, and I'm so caught off guard I don't know what to feel, let alone what to say. "I love you and I would not have you share in whatever is going to happen to me for this plot."

"Then why tell me at all?" I ask, struggling to parse out his motives.

"Because … this is not a burden I can carry alone, though I have tried. And, if I am honest with myself … I have longed for so very long to tell you that I was not lost – knowing you were the only one who mourned me." He has so much faith in me and I …

"Loki I …"  
"Shhh," he says gently, putting a finger to my lips. His finger is soon followed by his lips, ending any doubt about what kind of love he meant – it's been so long since I've been kissed like this. I almost lose myself, until, unbidden, an image of Theoric comes into my mind. I try to remember I'm not betraying him, that my duty to him is ended, but even so I hesitate to kiss Loki back even though … I do feel something for him.

"Oh," he says softly as he pulls back, sounding heartbroken.

"No it's not like that," I say quickly, with a hand on his shoulder. "It's just … it's so soon, after …"

"Of that you're right, Sigyn, I am sorry," he says softly, taking my hand and kissing it. Which stirs up butterflies in my stomach as though I'm a child, some silly girl with her heart set on an older boy. Like I once was.

"Only grant me some time, most worthy prince," I say, taking his hand in turn and kissing it the same way.

"The virtue of patience is one I am having to learn more and more of late, Sigyn – but for you I will gladly suffer waiting," he answers.

Maybe I'm a fool, but he has my silence – I'll speak of what I have seen to no one.

* * *

Only two days after I learn the truth, Sif returns with Lorelei in tow. How I had longed to go after her myself, how I admire Sif for bringing her back with minimal injuries, knowing what she did to men we loved.

Female guards (even with the muzzle, it is better to be safe than sorry) haul the witch away, and I embrace my best friend. "You got her!" I say breathlessly, letting out the breath I didn't realize I had been holding since I learned she escaped with many of the other prisoners during the siege. "You must tell me all about it!"

We drink wine – or I sip and she drinks anyway – as she tells me the story. It is late at night here – she'll make her official report to the Allfather in the morning. "And you won't believe who aided me – remember the mortal Thor spoke of, the one called Son of Coul?" I nod – how could I forget? What a twist of fate it was that Thor and Phillip found each other … and that Phillip should meet his death at Loki's hands.  
"He is alive – I do not know how, but he is alive."

"What?" I ask breathlessly. Joy swells in my chest – thank the gods! I wonder why Heimdall didn't tell me Phillip survived …

"It's too bad Loki isn't here to hear it – I would love to see the look on his face when …"  
"Sif," I say sharply, more sharply than I meant to, and she looks apologetic, probably remembering how close we were and thinking she's insulted me.

"I am sorry, I should not speak thus of a dead friend."  
"Oh it's not that … I was just going to … you can't tell the Allfather about this."  
"Why not?" she asks suspiciously.

"I will tell you more when I can – but please, trust me in this. Don't tell him. Tell him you were helped by mortals but don't tell him their names – certainly don't tell him that the one we had thought slain by Loki is alive." Phillip bruised Loki's ego by blasting him through a wall – I don't want to imagine what Loki will do if he learns he's alive. I love him but … I don't trust him not to do something he would regret later, not anymore.

"Very well – I will not, unless he asks directly," she says, which is fair enough. Loki won't think to do so – this line of questioning shouldn't come up. Phillip should be safe and Loki … Loki can never know what he really did when he killed … when he tried to kill Phillip. I _won't _let him live with that.

* * *

**Author's Note**

This is going to be our only Sigyn chapter for a while. I initially wanted it as a flashback … well, more of a flashback later on in the story but I decided to put it here for better pacing and also foreshadowing.

I decided to make Thor and Loki supposedly twins because 1. This would explain why nobody questioned that the queen hadn't been pregnant before Loki was born 2. Then talk of how Loki and Thor are so different isn't "Wow those brothers have nothing in common, that's suspicious" it's, "Isn't it adorable how the princes are twins but are like night and day?" since everyone loves twins like that 3. It can ramp up Loki's bitterness a _lot_. It's not just "Thor being born first is so unfair," it's "So Thor is the oldest by ten freaking minutes and he gets everything even though he's an idiot and I'm the competent one?" 4. They look pretty much the same age in that flashback in _Thor_.

Just for reference, I listened to the song "Now You Tell Me," by Jordin Sparks a lot while writing the scene in library.

I really hope Sigyn doesn't come across as stupid for not seeing the obvious with Loki and how evil he is (to be fair she is doing better than some of the fangirls). The intent is that this is a guy she's known since they were the equivalent of eight and nine and a half (roughly) and so she never _wanted _to believe he was evil and is eager to take his excuses. And while he's not _exactly _lying to her right now but … he's omitting a _lot _of the truth.

And now to address the elephant in the room: Norse religion in the MCU. I have been wondering how exactly they were handling it since _Thor_. Then in _Dark World _Odin's like "Oh we're not gods," and I'm like "Oh okay so they're just doing the advanced alien thing." And then an hour or so later they had a clearly very spiritual ceremony (the funeral) in which something clearly supernatural happened, namely that you saw all the dead people become soul dust and ascend to (presumably) Valhalla. So … yes they are gods, basically. This is what happens when you have two different directors and God knows how many screenwriters.

Speaking of … this is what happened while I was writing this part of the story.

Clippy: So I see you have decided to touch on the confusing, often troubling theological puzzle that is eschatology in the Marvel Universe, considering that you are bringing up both the Norse afterlife and implying that little Coulson went to Heaven when he "died." Would you like some help?

Me: *clicks on no thanks option*

Clippy: Good because you're on your own sister. *disappears*

Which … am I going any deeper with it? Heck to the no. I do talk about it more later in the story but I don't go very deep with the implications. This aspect of it was a little bit uncomfortable for me to write because I am a Christian who believes in Heaven, so it is kind of odd to me to be writing about it side by side with the Norse afterlife which I feel to be fiction. Basically, let me offer this disclaimer: I am not making any statements with this story about my beliefs or anyone else's and I advise not thinking about it too hard.


	8. Chapter 7: Monsters (Fen)

Chapter 7

Monsters

Fenrir

**Author's Note: **This chapter is the main reason that this story is mature people. Serious trigger warning for sexual abuse, particularly to anyone whose abuser/at least one abuser was female. (Don't scoff … the majority of sex crimes are committed by men but a surprising number involve a female accomplice or female doer.) On the show, they kind of gloss over the fact that mindcontrolling someone into sex is unambiguously rape and even I missed it the first time despite usually hating double standards like that but … yeah Lorelei might as well have given Ward a roofie/Viagra cocktail and jumped on his boner while he was passed out for all the input he had. It's _not _going to go over that lightly here. Even aside from triggers this is probably going to be an uncomfortable chapter for most people and that's entirely intentional. Also good old-fashioned wolf violence. Reader discretion advised.

On a lighter note … I actually was watching season 2 until episode 6 made me rage quit twenty minutes in. I hate hate hate hate hate _hate_ _**hate**_ Hunter! And no, it's not for shipping reasons – I was already at "this guy needs to die in a fire" levels of hatred when they pulled that crap, and that didn't help but I honestly don't think it made it worse unless there is a level of hatred above "die in a fire" that I am somehow not aware of attaining. Needless to say he will _not _be appearing in this fic. That said, I really like how they did Bobbi and Adrian Paliecki kills it! I like a lot of the things they are doing but_ damn it why is Hunter in it so much?_ Or does it just seem like he's in it a lot because every time he appears on screen, time freezes? Is there a reason we can't put the camera on the miles more likeable Triplett and Mack instead? Is it because they're black?! (Joking … mostly.) Anyways … let's get on with this story, because I could complain about this all day.

* * *

A pair of heavy stone doors open into the surprisingly claustrophobic keep/throne room of the old castle and we enter slowly – I barely fit through the doors. But once I am through I catch her scent – she's Vanir, like Sigyn, but I don't like hers as much. She's sitting on the opposite end on an iron throne – lounging is more like it. There are more men here – including Theoric – standing ready to guard their mistress.

"My lady, we have returned with Sigyn Freydottir, just as you ordered," Father says with a bow.

"I'm sure the Allfather's forces will be kind enough to inform her family for us. I hope you will accept my hospitality, Freydottir." Sigyn starts to mumble something in response, but Father catches her hand and covers her mouth with his hand.

"And here I was hoping we could keep this civil. Loki, gag her and put her in the cage," the witch says and points with her head at an iron cage in the back.

"As you wish my lady," Father says, and starts to lift her off my back. She struggles and Lorelei, for the maximum cruelty, orders Theoric to help him. I almost fight them – but I realize I would just get myself killed and then be no good to anyone, so I force myself to stand by and watch as they carry her to the cage and Father stuffs a rag into her mouth and then ties another over it so that she cannot speak.

"And why did you bring me this wolf?" the woman on the throne asks callously when that unpleasant task is ended. She's pretty, I guess, but not nearly as pretty as Sigyn or Sif. She's got long blond hair done in ringlets and she's about as tall as Sif – she towers over Sigyn. I force myself to wag my tail and cock my head to look as cute as possible.

"That's no mere wolf, my lady," Father says. Oh no! He's going to give away our secret which … is terrible. I guess. "This is my son, Fenrir." I glance up at him – he's smiling at me, and he just claimed me in public. He comes to stand by me and puts his arm over my shoulders – he loves me. He's proud of me. He loves me so much he wants the woman he thinks is the love of his life to know who I am. But he shouldn't be here. I force my tail to wag but tears sting my eyes, the situation turning what should have been a joyful moment into a painful one.

"Your son, Loki?" she asks, surprised, and finally stands up. She steps closer to me and her hand drags casually across my forehead. I nuzzle her hand and make a cute sound. "I can only assume he takes after his mother." I swallow down every rude thing I want to say in response to that, and continue making cute sounds. "He's a good boy – he'll do as I say, my lady."  
"I want to know if he'll do what I say," she says coldly.

_Oh yes, my lady, _I say eagerly, forcing my tail to wag, and take a deep bow.

"You speak," she says with a smile, not even seeming that surprised. Though after hearing a wolf introduced as a man's son, I guess there is not very much that warrants surprise. I nod way too eagerly. "Will you now? Bite your foot as hard as you can." I force myself not to hesitate as I bring my leg to my mouth and open my mouth wide. "Stop!" she says, and I just stop short of biting into my leg – or more accurately into Father's hand as he had put his hand on my leg to stop my teeth. "Very well – you have the heart of a man in you, little Fenrir," she says seductively and strokes my ears. I moan like I've heard Father moan sometimes at night when he's with a woman – a little bit of red comes to Father's cheeks and she laughs at us both. A faint, ladylike little laugh.

Then … she turns her attention back to Sigyn. "Theoric is your fiancé, isn't he, little Sigyn?" she taunts. Sigyn doesn't dignify her attacks with any acknowledgment – only looks straight ahead. I use the technique I just learned from Sleipnir to find her mind, and her mind alone. _It's okay Sigyn – her siren call and touch has no effect on me. You have an ally in this place still. _She doesn't react – of course she can't. I wish there was a way for me to read her mind, instead of just sending her my thoughts. Lorelei leans down to Sigyn's eye level and whispers, but I can still hear her. "I see why you like him so much – it's been many years since I've had such a lover in my bed." Why does everyone make such a big deal about sleeping together? It's just sleeping. Even so, Sigyn's eyes overflow with tears then – though she tries desperately to stay stony-faced. "Oh I forgot – he told me you were 'behaving with full decorum' until your wedding night, so you have no idea. Would you like to get a taste of what you're missing?" She stands up and looks over to Theoric, who's already waiting for her to call him over. He crosses the room eagerly, looking at her with the adoration he usually only gives to Sigyn. Lorelei pushes him against the wall, and his hands go around her waist. Sigyn presses her hands to the bars of her cage and tries to say something but of course the gag steals her voice. Lorelei leans in to Theoric's chest and brings his face down to hers and they kiss. Not the kind of kiss I'm used to seeing – it's so vigorous it looks like they're biting each other. I know he wouldn't kiss anyone except Sigyn like that and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. His hands caress her breasts and again, I know it's only black magic that compels him to touch anyone else that way and I get even sicker. She puts her hands down his trousers and takes his member in her hands and I don't understand what she's doing … Father covers my eyes but I can still smell the sweat and hear the moans and I start to think of a lie that will make Lorelei stop.

_Sigyn doesn't actually like _him _that much. _I say, thinking on my feet.

"Fen, what are you talking about?" Father asks me in a cooing voice, like I'm still a baby doing something silly. He's … too unfazed by all this. He should be throwing a fit and yelling at them to go in the other room and not expose me to this.

_It's actually Uncle Thor she likes a lot more. I think. I smell them on each other a lot, _I say sweetly, as though I'm an innocent little babe who doesn't know the significance of that, and wag my tail. _In fact, she's carrying a baby that I think must be Uncle Thor's … _

I don't expect Father's arm to tighten so on my shoulders, or the stricken look on his face. Lorelei looks to Sigyn, straightening her skirt and bodice. I find Sigyn's mind. _Just pretend for a little. She won't do anything with Theoric while she thinks that._

"Is that true, little Sigyn? Does the sweet little healer spend her nights with the golden prince of Asgard?"

"Yes …" she says awkwardly, and I can't tell how much of it is her attempt at acting embarrassed and how much of it is actual embarrassment. I didn't pick a flattering lie, but I think she'll be grateful in the end. "I … The boy is right. I have only recently discovered my condition, and the father can only be Thor." Father holds me so tight I think he'll break my shoulder and looks down at the floor. Lorelei notices.

"Oh – what a sordid mess we have here," she says, kneeling by him. "You wanted her, didn't you?"

"Yes."  
"But she pretended to be too virtuous to take your love, when all the while she was sleeping with your brother. Thor really does get everything, doesn't he?" I am beginning to think I made a mistake.

"Why didn't you tell me Fen?" he asks, ignoring her for the moment.

_I … I … I didn't know you felt anything for her and … they said it was a secret …_

"I think you should go and take her now – now that you know what she really is," Lorelei tells him. I'm tempted to say that she doesn't have any right to pick on Sigyn when she's been doing … whatever that was … with all of the men in this room. Maybe even Father … that makes me feel really sick to my stomach.

"But … I don't want her anymore, now that I have you," Father says tenderly, reaching up to take her hand.

"I _want _you to do this, my love," she whispers and kneels down to kiss him like she just kissed Theoric and I want to rip her head off but force my tail to keep wagging and force myself to keep smiling.

"But … my son is here," he says, faltering a little for the first time.

"He can turn his head," she teases softly.

_Yes … I'll close my eyes … _I say and give my biggest smile, even though I still want to rip her head off for touching Father that way. Father stands up and walks to Sigyn's cage, and she's visibly trembling.

And then I realize what Lorelei must mean by "taking" her. It'll be the same as … whatever that was. I almost panic. I really have made it worse. I watch in horror but without showing it, wracking my brains for another lie that will help instead of making it worse …

_You should let me bring you Lady Sif first, _I say desperately just as Father puts his hand to the lock, before he can mutter the spell to open it.

"And why's that?" Lorelei asks me impatiently.

_Because you hate them both, right? Well you could punish them both at once if you brought her here first and then let her watch Father … take Sigyn._

"And what would be accomplished by this?" she asks, still impatient but intrigued.

_Sif pines for Father. _Father looks at me suspiciously – he would have noticed if she did, and I know I might be in trouble. But I stand my ground.

"Oh really? And what of Haldor?" she asks, and for the first time I think she doubts me a little.

_She loves them both. Her days belong to Haldor, but if she had her way she'd give her nights to Father. And Sigyn is her friend so she wouldn't like seeing Father take her friend._

She still looks at me skeptically for just a moment, and I act as cute and innocent as possible – I wag my tail so fast my rump hurts and cock my head.

"How do you know all these things, Fenrir?"

_I … I see a lot of things because people take me for granted, or think I can't smell things, or don't realize I hear as well as I do. I know Father is very familiar with the ladies of Asgard … I hear them moaning and I smell something odd … _

I didn't want to embarrass him, but I had to tell a little bit of truth to keep her convinced. Sure enough, he blushes again, and that's the only proof of truth I need.

"I … had no idea you could … I had no idea you knew," he says awkwardly.

_I knew better than to say anything. Just like I didn't say anything about all the times I smelled Thor and Sigyn on each other and sometimes they smell like you and the women … or noticed that Sif takes your old clothes you throw out because they smell like you … _She's going to kill me. _I'm good at keeping my silence._

"Very well. Can you bring her to me?" Lorelei asks.  
_Of course I can! She trusts me! _I say cheerfully as I turn to her, bouncing on my paws.

"Then let it be so. Retrieve Sif for me, my brave wolf knight," she says and kisses me on the nose and it's very hard not to pull back.

* * *

I run back down the hill and into the chaos of battle, trying not to panic. I think I know what I'm doing. I remain unnoticed due to everything that is going on – even so I am wary of stray blows. I dive between warring soldiers and shield maidens and risk getting kicked by horses running behind them, calling out for Sif with my voice and my mind. I howl as loud as I can, knowing she'll come to me to get news of Sigyn. I search for her mind but it's impossible when I'm not looking directly at her, or even know what direction she is. The scent of too many people is too strong – sweat, fear, and blood covers the scent of most things – to find her by nose, so I just keep calling.

Finally, I hear Sleipnir neighing and when I whirl to find him, I spot her atop Sleipnir's back, fighting her way towards me. I dodge a couple more horses and find her mind. _Sif! Come quick please! _That was wrong to say – she's already trying. _Lorelei thinks she can control me … You have to come with me and pretend I captured you. You still have it don't you?_

Sleipnir kicks a soldier out of her way and she's close enough to speak.

"Yes, Fen – take me with you at once!" she calls to me. I go up on my hind legs and say, _I'll have to pretend to betray you when we get close_.

"I can play along," she whispers back.

We hurry through the grounds of the battle towards the fortress Lorelei has taken. Her forces allow me easy passage, the shield maidens hesitate because Sif is riding Sleipnir. Both sides are surely confused, but my brother's presence and mine affords crucial hesitation.

In the base of the castle, I know I have to strike. _I'll bite you, but not hard, _I warn, speaking only to her and Sleipnir. _I need you to buck, _I say only to Sleipnir.

_Only for you, little brother._

I stage an attack, turning on her and loudly proclaiming my loyalty to Lorelei for the benefit of Lorelei's guards at the entrance of the castle. She makes a few flagrantly half-hearted strikes at me with her sword – I hope they're too wrapped up in her spell to notice – and then I lunge. Sleipnir neighs and bucks, and she falls to the ground. I catch her arm with my teeth, careful not to bite down too hard, but just hard enough to draw a little bit of blood. And I try not to enjoy that too much. "Alas! I am captured!" Sif says loudly and flatly. It would appear that the Lady Sif was never destined to be an actress – but it's enough to fool the guards at the gate. One of them rushes out to catch Sleipnir's reins, and he bucks a little and snaps at him, but doesn't try to run. Honestly, they don't question why the king's own mount is so easy to capture? These are terrible guards. I drag Sif to the gate, proclaiming her capture, and the guards at the gate let me in.

I drag Sif up the winding stairs none too gently, finding her mind to apologize only to her all the while, and force my tail to wag. The guards follow with Sleipnir – they know he'll be quite the prize. _I hate stairs. Bloody two-legs … never happy to live on the ground like sensible creatures, _Sleipnir complains as his hoofs clack on the stairs. I've figured out by now he complains without ever really meaning it – he'll suffer anything, any pain or indignity, and gladly, for Grandfather, even if his service is indirect. _Oh the damage I will do to this woman … _

_I have first claim! She was kissing Father in front of me … it was horrible. _He laughs. _It's not funny! And after she'd been kissing Theoric …_

_She kissed Theoric?  
_

_And pushed him up on the wall and played with his member. _He goes dead silent a while. _Sleipnir? What was that about?_

_She's more wicked than I thought, little wolf. To do that under a spell … it's not any less despicable than a man forcing a woman with physical strength …_

_That's what I thought! It was horrible!_

_I cede first claim. Focus on your charade, little wolf. _

My tail had stopped wagging. I force it to wag again, even though Sleipnir's reaction only makes me feel even worse.

Once again, we enter Lorelei's throne room, this time with my head held triumphantly high and wagging my tail. Poor Sif – I've probably banged her up much more than I meant to as part of this ruse. She acts all limp and weary, and I hope that's just better acting than what she displayed at the gate. _My lady, I present to you the Lady Sif! And as an extra token of my love and loyalty, I also bring you the king's own mount, Sleipnir!_

"Well done, little wolf. Bring her to me so she can have a first hand view of what her lover will do to her friend," Lorelei says cruelly.

_Oh … I may have told her you pine for Father_, I say to Sif quickly, glad to say it now when Sif can't hit me.I carry her right up to Lorelei and drop her at her feet, and then the ruse is over.

Sif jumps to her feet, and I try to subdue Lorelei for her. I know the mission is to imprison her for trial if possible, not kill her, so I try to pin her down with my paw, hoping if I hold her still long enough …

I yelp as I feel a sharp pain between my shoulder blades. "How could you Fen?" Father asks, and I stumble away, reeling from the pain and the shock at the identity of my attacker, only to be beset by most of Lorelei's guards, including Theoric. I know they're under mind control so I try not to hurt them but I snap and lunge and swat with my paws, trying to back up and separate them from Sif. Sif is now fighting two of the guards on her own – including Haldor – but we'll have more help soon. Sleipnir, with one swift kick of his back legs, breaks open the door on Sigyn's cage. She stumbles out, but of course she's still muzzled. But since she's not being watched, nothing stops her from reaching to undo the clasp on it. Sigyn freed, Sleipnir goes to help – horse's teeth aren't sharp, and their jaws aren't as strong as a wolf's, but they're nothing to be trifled with. As soon as he advances on Lorelei, still standing untouched at the back wall, looking infuriatingly unconcerned, several of the guards who were attacking me break for him. Sleipnir bites and kicks – not nearly as hard as he could, mindful of the same thing I am. I take another knife in the jaw from Father, and now I'm mostly helpless. Sif manages to knock one of the guards unconscious but still struggles against her fiancé – Father turns from me and advances on her. In hand to hand combat, she could take him, but he has knives and magic here …

I am backed into a corner and struggle uselessly against my attackers. I feel one sharp blade go into my side and another almost slices my front right leg off … oh that I could be like I was against the draugur against them.

In fact … could anyone fault me? The shield maidens have doubtless been forced to kill many of our soldiers – no one will fault me if I bite one of these in half …

It's Theoric trying to stab me in the face with a long knife. He's always been kind to me, even though he thinks I'm just a wolf, and I can't bring myself to hurt him and end up getting stabbed just below the eye.

I hear Sigyn's voice countering Father's spells – she's out of her muzzle – and the two of them soon occupy their own battle. She casts spells to counter his with ease, surely hoping to disable him long enough to come to her friend's aid, but of course even dulled by Lorelei's spell Father is brilliant. I ignore the flashes of light and frantic cries of spells and worry about my end. By now Sif has knocked Haldor unconscious and all of the guards who were tormenting me leave me to fight her – she takes on some six men by herself. If any fool still doubts her prowess, they'll be proven wrong this day.

Lorelei looks at me with an evil smirk, expecting me to sit in the corner and lick my wounds. I know I'm provoking another attack, but even so I lunge for her, and make it about three steps before the guards are on me once again. The only good thing is this clears a path for Sif – she advances on Lorelei and half of the guards go to her.

I see my goal now – to be enough of a pest that enough guards are drawn off for Sif to get to Lorelei, before she figures out a means of escape. I may die in it – so be it.

I bite into the neck of one – I am afraid that I'll kill him, but I am so wounded and angry that I cannot be too distressed about it now. Sif has to get to Lorelei, at all costs. I lunge, tear, and stomp, feeling bones break under my jaws and tasting hot blood in my mouth, anything to get as many of them down as possible for Sif to reach Lorelei.

_Fenrir – watch yourself! _Sleipnir warns but the taste of blood only spurs me on – I tear a huge chunk of flesh from a leg and chew it once before I stop just short of eating it, and instead drop it. Warm, living flesh and blood is delicious, nothing like the rotting flesh of the draugur. Now they're all on me except Father and the two determinedly fighting Sif – Theoric and another man. Sleipnir takes them down with a swift, debilitating kick to Theoric's ribs – I hear his ribs break, and I know he'll be in grave danger from bleeding inside if this isn't ended quickly – and bringing his hoofs down on the other man's feet so that they break, then he head butts him to the ground as Sif runs for Lorelei, who has risked trying to run past her to the door. They meet in combat – Lorelei is no shrinking violet. She may try to run as first recourse, but when battle is the only option she acquits herself well.

I've been stabbed and struck innumerable times – I drip with blood, my own and the men's. But I still fight on – only a little bit longer now. Any time they try to leave to defend Lorelei, I am able to take a few steps in her direction which draws them back to me – it's like they know Sif won't kill her, but at this point I will. I'd gladly make good on every threat I made in my head while she cavorted with Father and Theoric.

I don't catch any of the fight with Father and Sigyn, all though I still hear them. Sleipnir blocks the door so even if Lorelei gets away, she'll face him directly, and at this point I think he'd be happy to kick her skull in. Sif and she fight desperately, but I know Sif will win. Sure enough, she pins her to the ground and forces the collar over her head. The spell is broken instantly – the men who had fought me scream in pain and terror, and the battle between Father and Sigyn ceases immediately. I stumble a few feet away and collapse in pain. I think I'm already dead, or maybe I just wish I was. Even so, I smile. That bitch is finally quiet. "Fen! What have I done?!" Father cries, and he practically flies across the room to kneel by me. He's a little worse for the wear – he has burn marks from some spell of Sigyn's, and he's all bruised and cut up as well. "Fen … you look like you've lost all the blood in your body," he whispers, horrified.

_It's not all mine, _I say smugly, and he looks up, taking in the sight of some of the men I fought. Instead of being proud he looks … horrified. So does Sigyn – she stays where she is in the far corner, with her hand over her mouth, gazing at them. I look to Sif, hoping for some manner of support, only to see she's stumbled over to Haldor and tries to wake him. He doesn't wake, and she apparently finds no pulse – I realize now when he went down she killed him, not knocked him unconscious, surely because she misjudged the strength of the blow in the heat of battle. It's a difficult thing to do even in relative quiet, let alone with everything at stake and no time to lose. She sobs over him and apologizes, resting her head against his chest. I've never seen her cry before – ever. I try to stand to go and comfort her, but it hurts to move. Now that the battle is over, I feel all the pain. "Well Sigyn? Are you a healer or aren't you?" Father asks harshly, and jerks his head at some of the men. Very uncharacteristically, she curses at him. Pungently. I almost laugh, but he's so shaken he doesn't even react to her cursing, and his horror is becoming mine. What have I done?

_Sleipnir? _I ask pitifully.

_You did what you had to, little wolf, _he answers wearily. _And now I must go – they will know by now the battle is won, but healers must be summoned here … you for one, are in dire need. _He maneuvers out of the door, and I hear his hooves clopping on the stairs once again. _Bloody stairs. _Once again, I almost laugh.

"Theoric, just be still for now …" Sigyn says, while she kneels over … the man whose flesh I almost ate. I feel the same deep shame I haven't felt since I smelled the funeral pyres burning. Even while working on staunching that man's bleeding, she speaks to Theoric. "I'm so sorry … none of that was true about me and Thor … Fen just lied to keep her from …"  
"I know," he says. I look to him and he's trying to smile but tears – presumably of pain – stream down his face. "I am grateful to the boy for sparing me at least one episode of …" he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. So … she did _that _to him before? Is _that _what they mean when they say sleeping together? That's not sleeping at all! "I am the one who's sorry, that …"  
"Don't be stupid, Theoric," Father snaps. "You've got nothing to be sorry for." So far as I know, Father doesn't even like Theoric – when he sees Sigyn and Theoric together, he rolls his eyes behind their backs. Actually, everyone does that – they're so much in love that the sweetness of their romance apparently annoys everyone. Sometimes it even bothers me a little bit – they talk to each other like children or something. "You didn't want to sleep with her …" so yes that is what they meant. That is such a stupid expression … it's not at all accurate. "Anymore than I wanted to …" His fingers find the place where he stabbed me, and I yelp and snap instinctively, and he narrowly pulls his arm back in time to avoid having his fingers snapped off. Everyone goes dead silent in fear … fear of me.

And then Father's tears begin – silent, horrified tears running down his cheeks – and it terrifies me because I don't know if he's crying because of what he did or what I did, and the tears and the fear fill me with enough strength to do one more thing. I'll give them a real reason to fear me, and save us all the trouble of a trial.

I manage to get to my feet and stumble to Lorelei – I will snap her in half. I'll eat out her evil heart right now. No intelligence she could offer can be worth suffering this bitch to live. She tries to crawl away but I lunge towards her, and Father and Sigyn just stop me with a combined spell, pulling me back, and my jaws snap closed so close to her flesh that my nose brushes her belly. She cries in terror and continues crawling away. She's not so pretty when she cries. "Fen, no!" Sigyn pleads.

"Fen … don't be the monster they're afraid you are," Father whispers, barely audibly, in my ear, as he strokes my fur and wraps an arm around my neck. I don't understand … Lorelei caused all this pain, why shouldn't she suffer the consequences? But I collapse to the ground again, weak. I want to sleep. "No, no, Fen, don't sleep!" he says worriedly. He starts trying to tend my wounds, but he's no healer. He knows some healing spells, but not as many as Sigyn.

I stay awake through the pain while many, many guards take Lorelei away and Grandmother and Thor arrive – Grandmother doesn't take time to look at the carnage, only kneels by me and starts work. She's no healer either, but she knows more about it than Father. She's at least able to get me stabilized enough to be carried away. Uncle Thor, however, surveys the carnage and leans down to stroke my head. "Sif always said you had a warrior spirit, nephew," he whispers and kisses me on the nose. If he's disturbed by it, he doesn't show it, at least not to me.

* * *

Several days go by with Father worrying over me even though none of my wounds were as serious as they felt – mostly I just hurt a lot. "Fen, I'm so sorry," he tells me again and again as he strokes my fur that covers the rare patches of skin that aren't hurt in some way.

_I am not angry with you, Father. _I reiterate. _You had no choice in the matter … why would I be angry with you? To be honest I am more worried for you … because of … what I saw her do with Theoric …_

He freezes.

"Don't you worry about that, Fen – it's something for grown-ups to …"  
_Stop telling me that! _I yell, put out. _I've been to war – I'm old enough to know about … whatever that was._

"That … that is called intercourse and it is how the father gives his seed to the mother so that she can grow a baby inside her," he says, after taking a deep breath. I knew babies come from their mother's bellies, of course, I'm not a baby – I just never got a straight answer on how the father gives her his seed to grow the baby. I guess I've finally gotten one.

_Is Lorelei going to have Theoric's baby? Or yours?_ I ask worriedly.

"No, no – firstly, she didn't touch me, she didn't get the chance …" he hesistates.

_And secondly?_

"And secondly, there are ways … there are spells and herbs to prevent such a thing."  
_Then why do it if not to have a baby? _He turns bright red.

"It's … it can be pleasurable. And brings lovers closer together."  
_Is that what you're doing with the women I smell?_

"Yes."  
_Do you love them?_

"Er …" he starts, which means no.

_Did you love my mother?  
_"All right Fen I think you need to go to sleep," he says quickly. The sun is still out, so I assume that means that line of questions is out.

_Is that why Sigyn didn't want me to look at her naked? Because she thought I would think intercourse thoughts about her?_

"What? When did …"

_Why would someone use that to hurt someone if it's supposed to be a good thing? _I ask quickly to dodge that question._  
_"Because some people are wicked, and hurt people any way they can," Father says.

_But that's very cruel. And gross._

"Yes it is." We're just quiet a moment – I don't know what he thinks about, but I contemplate how cruel people can really be. I wonder if wolves hurt each other that way too, or if it's only people who stoop so low. "When were you looking at Sigyn naked?" he asks after a while. I suppose I did not dodge it after all.

_When we were waiting for the dwarves to make the collar she decided to take a bath and told me not to look but I was curious … _To my surprise, he smiles a little bit.

"Yes well … you didn't know any better and now you do."

_But I didn't. I didn't think intercourse thoughts about her. It didn't make me feel anything at all. _And that does trouble him.

"Well … you're young … when you're older …"  
_But … I'm a wolf. Wouldn't it be wicked for me to think such things about … _I didn't know why, of course, but I know that every animal only stays with it's own kind.

"You'll be a real boy by then," he cuts me off.

_Why is it called sleeping together if it doesn't actually involve sleeping?_

"People often fall asleep after – it's just a euphemism."  
_Do you still want to intercourse with Sigyn even though she's engaged to Theoric?  
_"All right Fen it really is getting late," he says, which means yes, and pulls the blanket over my hindquarters and drapes another over my shoulders.

* * *

Grandfather summons me to him while I'm still recovering – despite the constant pain, I'm excited to go. _Since all of those soldiers heard you call me your son, are we allowed to tell people now?_ I ask Father curiously.

"They've been asked to keep their silence for now – but you did well, Fen. The war is ended because of you – I fail to see how Father can do anything but claim you now," he answers, and he looks just giddy with excitement.

There's no one in the throne hall when I bow before Grandfather – no one but me, Father, Grandmother, Uncle Thor, and Sigyn. I'm already worried – Grandfather doesn't seem happy. Thor looks grave, Sigyn looks utterly miserable, and I sense Grandmother's worry. The smile falls off Father's face as he sees it too.

"Rise, Fenrir Lokison," he tells me, and I straighten out my legs and stand up straight, my head still held high and my tail wagging even though dread is gnawing at the pit of my stomach. "You fought very bravely in service of your kingdom, grandson."  
_And of my king, _I add with a tail wag. To my surprise, I see pain in his eyes at that statement of loyalty.

"And you killed two of my soldiers," he says gravely. Those words strike me much more fiercely than any blow I was dealt in the battle.

_I … I did not … _

Father speaks up for me immediately, seeing my horror. He kneels by me and puts a hand around my leg. "Father, the same can be said of many of the shield maidens – the Lady Sif was forced by the heat of battle to …"

"Hush, Loki," Grandfather says harshly. "I am aware of the facts of the battle."

_I am gravely sorry for what I have done. I tried very hard to be careful …_

"But you weren't, were you?" he asks. I bow my head.

_Not as much as I could have been._

"He doesn't mean that – you can't browbeat him, he'll say anything to please you," Father argues.

"Loki, hold your tongue," Grandfather snaps at him, then looks me directly in the eye. "You were caught up in bloodlust, were you not?"  
_I … I was scared and angry … _I admit timidly.

"He was wounded – and he knew the stakes, he had just narrowly prevented that vile woman from forcing his own father to carry out a heinous violation against one of his dear friends …"  
"I will not warn you again, Loki, you will hold your tongue and let your son speak for himself or you will leave," Grandfather says, rising to his feet and banging Gungnir's shaft on the ground at his feet. I have to fight not to cry as Father looks down. I can smell hatred coming off him in waves.

_I know I am in no position to ask anything, my lord, _I say. This is probably a stupid plan. _But I made a vow to the Lady Sigyn that I would return to Vanaheim to find what became of her brothers in …_

"Fenrir, I already told you I have no intent of holding you to that vow!" Sigyn cuts in sharply.

"I would not be inclined to grant this request at any rate, Lokison," Grandfather says. "I would not give you a chance to practice harming men when you are already so adept at it." Shame flows through my whole body – I glance at Sigyn and her head is hung low. I know he compelled her to tell all that she saw in the mines. All that she heard.

_Then I will bear whatever punishment you feel is necessary to give me, my lord, _I say humbly, trying to brace myself for whatever it may be.

"Not a punishment – I do not think you meant to do any wrong, young wolf," he says, more gently, even reaching forward to pat my head. "Only a measure of safety, for yourself and others. When the pen on the grounds is completed, you are to remain there at all times. Until then you are to remain in your Father's quarters and not leave for any reason."

_Not even to play outside? _I ask meekly.

"Not even for that. You will leave your pen for no reason, and also be bound inside it by a chain about the neck …"

"Father, no!" Uncle Thor cries in protest while Father gasps in horror.

"Husband … " Grandmother says and I know from her tone she was pleading with him before we came in.

"I have decided, what I have decided," he says. To his credit, he looks pained to say it. Even so, the fear and shame is quickly replaced by something else. Anger. Hot, bubbling anger that makes me sick to my stomach. If I was a real boy, I'd be praised for slaying enemies – but since I am a wolf, I am instead to be imprisoned.

And even though I know I am only making things worse for myself, I have to ask.

_When the draugur called me Odin-Bane, what did they mean?_ Everyone goes dead silent, except Father who hisses at me, "Fenrir, shut up!" under his breath. But I ignore him.

_I only ask because my heart broke to hear the name, because I could not imagine that I would be called the bane of my beloved grandfather, _I say, as innocently as possible, and watch the pain grow in his eyes as my words twist the knife, and I take that little bit of joy.

"I do not know, Fenrir. The draugur have memories of times before – times which are unknown to any of us. There is no way to know what they may have meant," he says, but I think that's a lie.

"Father, please, he's just a boy – he's not dangerous, he's never harmed anyone outside of battle – how can you punish him for the thing for which you praise the other young men?" Father pleads, his trembling hands tightly interwoven in my fur.

_It is all right, Father, I will do whatever the Allfather wills, _I say submissively, with my head hung low. I know I can't get out of this unless he changes his mind, so I just twist the knife as much as I can. To hurt him with my quiet obedience. Maybe he will question himself, maybe he will change his mind.

"The boy is no threat, Father," Uncle Thor says, his voice getting loud and angry.

"Loki, take your son home," Grandfather orders – he doesn't want to argue with both of his sons at once. But that's futile – Father is on his feet.

"No I will not take him and hide him away again – he's done well, he's done more than anyone could have asked of him, and he deserves praise, not confinement! Do you know how much joy it brought me to call him my son, even in the worst of circumstances?" Tears come to my eyes, and my tail wags a little in spite of everything.

"Sigyn, take the boy to his father's quarters," Grandfather says to Sigyn, who rises to do as he says.  
"Yes, take my son where he can't hear what I am about to say," Father says harshly to her.

I follow Sigyn out of the throne hall. As soon as I leave the hall my façade crumbles – I start to sob. "Fenrir, I'm so sorry," she says and pats my head.

_No you're not – you think I'm dangerous, just like he does, _I say petulantly. I almost immediately feel bad – she has no power over my situation and I should not take it out on her. She can't help how she feels. She doesn't say anything, only fails to meet my eye, and so I don't apologize for my petulance.

We reach the door and she lets me in – I briefly consider bolting but I have no idea how to live in the woods and the thought of never seeing Father and all those I love again is too much, so I trudge in. She follows me in and takes a seat to wait for Father to come back – I bite my tongue and refrain from asking if she's sure she trusts me. _Will you tell me a story? _I ask instead, suddenly struck with nostalgia for the nights when I would interrupt her and Father's studies to hear stories from her. She would hold me in her lap and pet me and tell me stories until I fell asleep, and then I suppose they went on with it.

"Of course, anything you wish," she says, and her eyes shine with restrained tears.

_Tell me the tale of the swan girl, if it pleases you,_ I say. She hesitates a long time.

"You haven't asked for that one in ages."  
_I know. But I still like it. _She nods – I curl up at her feet and listen as she tells me the story I haven't heard since I was so small, even though it was once my favorite. It's about a swan born to Vanir parents. The little swan girl is brave and kind, and in the end she gets to be a real girl because she saves the kingdom by thinking quickly, and the king has all the mages in the kingdom line up to lift her curse until one of them finally does.

If I can't be a real boy, I'd at least like to be a swan. People aren't afraid of swans, even though they can be quite mean.

The tears Sigyn has been fighting not to spill roll down her cheeks when she reaches the happily ever after. "Fenrir … I promise you … your Father and I will cure you. Someday, somehow."

_I know, I have faith. I just hope it's soon, _I say confidently, and my tail makes a few gentle wags. She kisses me on the nose.

"Soon, I promise," she says.

* * *

**Author's Note II **

I may have stolen a line from _Frozen._ It just … fit so well.

Fitz fell for Coulson not even trying to be convincing and a lot of the guys from New Mexico acted dumb under her control, and Ward was somehow even flatter than usual … I'm pretty sure the mind control spell makes them stoned on love so to speak, so that's why I have the guards acting like total dodos and Loki being all mellow about people having sex in front of his preteen son. But he didn't quite come unwound enough not to blush about it. (Which … I realize that came out really unclear and like I have no idea how sex works. She doesn't actually get that far with Theoric right at that moment, all though she had had sex with him earlier, and yes he's going to be messed up by that.) Also … this may contribute a tiny bit to Sif and Sigyn being able to take them all but mostly it's because they're just that badass (Sif at combat and Sigyn at magic).

Also I know it's kind of weird to suddenly use the word "bitch" but hear me out – since Fen is going feral in that portion, I was actually intending that more in the original sense of the word than a "woman I don't like" way (all though he certainly means that too). It's evidence of his dehumanizing of both of them in his thoughts.

Also I know I will get comments about this so let me clarify: I don't think Asgardians have the men don't cry thing. It's not universal on Earth, even in cultures which value machismo. Maybe I'm talking out of my behind, being a white woman and all, but I've never known a Hispanic guy that was ashamed to cry as long as he had a good reason to be crying. (And growing up in Texas, I knew a lot of Hispanic gentlemen.) And to back up my claims about Asgard specifically – Thor is the only Avenger we've seen cry multiple times in the MCU. (When Loki told him their dad was dead, when Loki stabbed him after one last offer of redemption, when his mother died.) Heck I think he's the only one we've seen cry period. (Don't quote me on that, but just off the top of my head I think that's true, but I may be remembering some scenes wrong.) The Earth chapters are going to have the opposite – people (cough, Coulson, cough) holding it all in at detriment of themselves.

Also the reason that Loki is so squeamish about giving Fen "the talk" is because 1. He's very young himself 2. He will do anything and everything to deny that Fen is getting old enough to know such things. And also I thought we might all need the whole "asks a ton of uncomfortable questions" humor as a lighter point between the rape and thigh chewing and the painful family stuff.


	9. Chapter 8: Fidelity (Coulson)

Chapter 8

Fidelity

Coulson

**Author's Note: **So here's the sob story you've already seen if you're also reading _Live to Rise_. I got kicked out of my program despite doing everything they wanted me to do to get off academic probation, because they decided it wasn't right for me. When I asked if there was anything I could have done differently, I was given an answer that makes me think I was basically kicked out because I've been struggling with depression and thus cried a lot and wasn't very social, which I'm pretty sure is illegal considering I still got my work done but oh well. So I'm now going to get a master's in biology this May instead of a PhD in genetics in three and a half years, so I'll be looking for a job soon. (The market actually looks okay for just a master's, and I had my heart set on being a doctor but after all the nonsense I have gone through with this program, I just have no more desire to start all over somewhere else since very little of my coursework would transfer.) As such, this story is progressing slower than I thought it would. The good point is I write out of order so even though in what's been posted, the story has just gotten started, I'm almost done writing it. In fact, there's one more Fen chapter to be posted a little bit later tonight. The bad news is it may take me a while to write the pieces connecting the dots. I have to focus on graduating (which means keeping my GPA above 3.0) and finding a job and quite probably moving to start that job, which will minimize writing time. I know, I know, excuses are like armpits – everybody has them and they all stink. I will still do my best to have this up in a timely manner. I appreciate your patience.

I wrote Bobbi as Coulson's niece because that was a WMG I read on tvtropes a couple of years ago that I really liked. No I don't plan to change it any of my stories just because she's clearly not related to him in the MCU, mostly because I liked it and didn't want to rewrite it and I hate Hunter and am ignoring the hell out of her relationship with him so why not ignore everything else about her MCU portrayal because damn it it's my story I can do what I want! ... I mean, because I really like the storytelling opportunities that this relationship afforded. I'm also emphasizing the fact she's a scientist more because I am also a biologist and biologists are sexy and awesome ... I mean because I don't think they emphasize that enough in canon and I would like to see more female scientists in fiction in general.

* * *

I work for the world's greatest spy agency with all the funding in the world – and I'm reduced to using Skype. And asking Simmons for help with it because I'm that bad at technology – that's helpful for the ego. "Loki was just a kid when I left Asgard," Professor Randolph explains. "So … if he had a wolf son, I wouldn't know about it."

"But it doesn't sound implausible?" I ask, more than a little surprised.

"Well from my examination of relevant Earth mythology, assuming that's at all accurate, it sounds like his son could have been born with a birthing curse – a curse put on one of the parents so all of their offspring, or at least all of their offspring with a certain partner, end up with a curse of some kind."

"Who would do that? That's horrible!" Simmons says, shocked.

"Someone who really hates one of said parents or wants that parent to abstain from certain relations … it's not uncommon for spouses to do it to each other or parents to do it to their children to discourage family trees from growing crooked branches," he says with a shrug. Simmons does not do a great job of hiding her horror at that. "But it would have to have been cast by an incredibly powerful person, if all of the mages at the king's disposal and Loki himself couldn't break it." Well … he just said parents usually did it … I wonder if Thor has the same thing on him?

"So if it was that, would it be possible that the children could have human intelligence?"  
"Human?" Randolph asks playfully.

"You know what I mean. What do I call your people? I mean … what do you prefer?" It's hard to think of a polite way to phrase it … humans never counted on having to sort out how to politely ask someone what their species is.  
"Most of us are Aesir but there's a sizeable number of Vanir living in Asgard." I wait to see if he explains the difference, and he doesn't. "Asgardian works well for either. As for the question … I don't see why not. It might even have magic." Well … that answers that. There's no proof yet, but it's possible.

"One thing I don't understand … some of our legends are older than you, sir … how could they have known about Loki and his children when they would have been written when he was a little boy or even before he was born?" Simmons asks. Randolph goes totally silent – I have a feeling we've just asked a question we weren't supposed to.

"Professor?" I prompt.

"I was just a stone mason you understand – I didn't have access to all the historical knowledge and philosophical speculation some of the others did. But I heard things."  
"Things?" I ask, trying to move it along.

"I don't think I should say much more but … let's just say that this may not be the first time certain things have happened."  
"Oh … kay," I say hesitantly, trying to wrap my head around what he's implying.

"So … Ragnorak has already happened at least once?" Simmons asks bluntly. Randolph totally loses the usual calm demeanor I've come to expect from him.

"Hush – don't speak of that," he whispers to her, and she quickly nods.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize …"  
"It's all right. We just don't … it's not a good idea to speak about that." I start to ask why, but then I remember how uncomfortable, even in a group of Christians, it can be when someone says "End of Days." It's like an extra layer of the "never discuss religion or politics rule" – if you absolutely must discuss religion, don't discuss the apocalypse. I'm guessing that's even more the case if you actually know your gods – knowing their ultimate fate is probably even weirder that way. And scarier.

"I apologize," I say quickly, taking control. "This might be a stupid question but … how big are wolves usually, on Asgard?"  
"It depends – are you talking about common wolves or great wolves?" Well, so much for narrowing that down. So we could still be dealing with an intelligent, magic-wielding vengeful wolf son or a human, I mean Asgardian, controlling one or more run-of-the-mill giant wolves. This job has gotten very weird recently.

"Great wolves," I say.

"They can get pretty big – five meters long and a little over two meters tall is the official measurement but you can find plenty of hunters that will swear they've killed ones even bigger." And Fenrir was supposedly way, way bigger. Or is … whatever the correct verb tense is. The point is that that fits our measurements, which I am actually kind of hoping means it's not Fenrir. Somehow, I don't think I want to deal with Loki's angry son right now.

Ward comes in, and he doesn't hesitate to interrupt so it must be important. "Sir, we just got a call from SFPD …" a knot forms in my stomach.

"I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short, Professor, but thank you for your help," I say.

"It's no trouble – I hope you catch your wolf," he says, and Simmons cuts the signal.

"What was the call?" I ask, as we meet May in the hall and start to walk.

"The same as the others – a left hand with attached forearm and a right leg left behind at a bloody crime scene. This one was in the park – no witnesses, it happened in the middle of the night. But there was something … weird, this time." He pulls up an image on his tablet to show a bloodied left hand holding a pink teddy bear with a smaller bear in its hands. On the forearm I recognize an unusual tattoo – it's hard to make it out with the blood and the torn flesh but I am 90% certain it says, "_Le miel est doux, mais l'abeille pique_." He will not taste the sweet if he does not endure the bitter. And then I recognize the stuffed animal too.

"Victim's name?" May asks, obviously addressing Ward, but I answer.

"Pierre Fabron, professor of architecture at … I don't know. Probably Stanford."  
"… Yeah … that's right …" Ward says hesitantly. "Did you know him?"  
"No but my ex-wife sure does," I say bitterly. May shoots me a look.

"I was not aware you'd ever been married, sir," Ward says stiffly.

"I have better things to do than talk about her to anyone who will listen," I answer. "But I guess that answers the question about whether it's sending me a message."  
"It could be coincidence …" Ward starts.

"Coulson – is that one of the bears you bought Whitney?" May asks.  
"Yes."  
"I'm guessing it was a pretty significant occasion considering how many you bought her."  
"Yes. It's the first one I gave her. And I didn't buy it … I won it at a carnival. Took me five tries to knock down all the bottles."

"That's … actually very romantic, sir," Simmons says, then wilts under the look May shoots her.

"Thank you," I say. At least someone appreciates the gesture – at the time all I got for it was teasing. "Has anyone heard from her? I doubt our doer stopped by and asked nicely to borrow a bear," I say, and I keep my game face on but I'm worried for her.

"She hasn't been reported missing," Ward says. That's … reassuring I suppose. But I'd expect that she was the one to report him missing – there must have been a missing report for them to have a match on his ID so quickly.

"Who reported him missing?" I ask.

"His wife – one Renée Fabron," Ward says, looking through his notes. I don't say anything in response, but I'm thinking, _Oh you've got to be kidding me. He knocked up another woman and she's still with him?_ I tell myself I shouldn't worry – Whitney has her son, and if he was missing too someone at his school would have noticed and a twelve-year-old boy was unlikely to fail to notice his mother was gone. Unless he had spent the night with friends or something.

"The local LEOs have probably notified his wife by now – we should notify Whitney," I say. "She'll want to tell her son. And it will give us a chance to ask about the bear. May, Ward – you'd better handle this." Probably best not to show up and let her know I'm not dead.

"Understood," Ward agrees. To his credit, he manages not to look intrigued or amused by the revelation he has just had – Ward can be trusted to not really have much emotional reaction to anything.

"So how long were you together?" Skye asks. I hadn't noticed her joining us – I really am off my game.

"Eleven years," I answer evenly, not betraying any of the bitterness I feel about it. I remember exactly how long it was, but not how many years since it's been.

"Wow! Did you have kids?" she asks.

"No," I answer, also evenly, even though I carry even more bitterness about that. She opens her mouth to ask something else but May shoots her a look that makes me hurt a little and I'm not even the target of it. Skye knows better than to ask whatever she was thinking, and I'm grateful. "I can put a wire on Ward real fast so you can see and hear what they do – maybe notice any details they'd miss for not knowing her the way you do," she says. It's a fair point – not sure I want to see her but … if she's in danger, everyone I love probably is, and even if it was just her, it would be worth momentary discomfort to change that.

"That works," I say.

The house she lives in is modest but it's in a nice neighborhood. She must get paid a lot better in California than she did in DC – or else Fabron had to give her a hell of a lot of child support. Or maybe she finally sold some of her paintings – I don't know. Or maybe somebody died in the house. I remind myself it's none of my business as Ward and May get out of the car which is parked around the blocks so there's no chance she'll see me in the back, and I stay back with Skye, looking at the feed from the fake glasses Ward is wearing on her laptop.

Ward knocks, and she answers right away. "Hi, how can I help you?" she asks. She looks confused and alarmed to see it's S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives at her door – I know she knows who they are before they show their badges. The years have been good to her, at least in appearance. I could have seen her last year instead of ten years ago. Or eleven or twelve … however long it's been. It's not like I kept track of the exact date.

"We're afraid we have some bad news. Would it be all right if we stepped inside?" May says.

"Of course … you're a little late if you're here to tell me about Phil …" she says. Skye insists on shooting me a look I ignore.

"It's newer bad news, I'm afraid," Ward says.

"Come in," she says reluctantly, surely wondering what else they could be here to tell her.

The house is covered in stuffed animals – of course it is. There's at least one shelf filled just with ones I bought her. I see May looking around at them with a look on her face like it's wall-to-wall heroin. Actually, she might approve more of wall-to-wall heroin. If I know Ward, he looks decidedly neutral about the thousands of plastic eyes staring at him. Whitney moves a few bears aside to make a place for them on a couch and then takes a seat in a recliner. As they sit down, Ward takes a look at her mantelpiece, which is basically a shrine to two men – her son and me. If you didn't know better you'd assume we were all a family together. Dylan's first grade picture is right next to a picture of me in my first field uniform (God, was I ever that young?) and his current picture is next to our wedding photo, which sadly immortalizes my longhaired phase. I still think she looks beautiful in that picture. Ward glances at May and I see that, again, she'd probably approve more of heroin. Skye makes an expression at me that I deliberately ignore.

"We're sorry to tell you that your son's father was found dead this morning," Ward says evenly, if a little too quickly. He probably wants to get the hell out of there.

"Oh my God," Whitney says, shocked. But it's not quite the devastation I was expecting. "What happened? Why is this a S.H.I.E.L.D. case?"  
"We think that the perpetrator may be someone who had a grudge against Agent Coulson," May says.

"But … Phil's been dead two years … why would …"  
"The perpetrator may not be aware of that," Ward says quickly. "This may be an odd question but … have you noticed any of your stuffed animals missing, particularly as they relate to Agent Coulson?"  
"Yes – the bear that Phil won for me on our first date is gone, I noticed it this morning," Whitney answers. Skye, once again, makes an expression at me that I once again deliberately ignore.

"Can you describe it?" Ward asks, just to be sure.

"Sure … it's a soft pink and holding a smaller blue bear in its hands, that has a pink bear in its hands," she answers without hesitating. "Dylan …. My son … calls it teddy bear-ception …" That's actually kind of cute. "I … I saw it and it was just so cute and I tried to win it and lost … Phil told me the carnie was cheating me, and I tried to go on but he could see I still wanted it and went back and kept trying until he got it …" Skye continues making an expression at me that I continue deliberately ignoring.

"Where do you normally keep it?" Ward asks.

"On the shelf with the others from Phillip," she answers. That shelf in no way represents all the ones I bought for her.

"Did you notice anything unusual last night?" May asks, all though I think that's kind of unnecessary – she would have told us first thing if she saw a giant wolf take it. Plus the house would be torn down.

"No," she says, just as I expected. Well that narrows it down – whether it's Fenrir or not, we know our wolf has a human … well, humanoid accomplice. Human intelligence or no, I don't think a giant wolf could go and retrieve the bear without Whitney noticing. Unless it can levitate things or make itself a very small wolf with thumbs … Which, given everything else, seems weirdly plausible.

"Do you know how anyone could have gotten it?" Ward asks.

"Why'd you even break up? She's obviously still totally crazy about you," Skye says and elbows me in the side so I don't hear Whitney's response, though its being recorded so I can look at it later.

"Fabron got her pregnant while I was away on a mission in Guyana," I say bluntly. No sense beating around the bush about it.

"Oh." Yeah, oh. "Obviously, she regrets it."  
"That's nice," I say, and strain to hear the rest. It sounds like there's no possible way it was anything short of someone coming in the house to get it – it's not like she takes it anywhere with her. Thank God for that, at least.

"Ma'am, we'd like to assign you and your son a protective detail for the time being," Ward says gently. He must have read my mind – we've all but confirmed this thing is after me now. I've got to call Tom, Ben, and Bobbi.

"Do you think that's necessary?" she asks worriedly.

"It's most likely nothing," Ward lies masterfully. "But for the time being, we have to assume that everyone connected to Agent Coulson is in danger."

"Of course. I'll call my son and ask him to come home."

I notice the boy turning the corner on his bike out of the corner of my eye. He must have just come home from school. "Uh oh. Skye – be cool, but that's Whitney's son over there on the bike," I say as I turn my head to see if he's looking – if he's not I'll slide down to where I can't be seen. Of course he is, and given that shrine his mother has, there's about a two percent chance he doesn't know exactly who I am. Skye sees him looking too. She curses loudly and starts to slide down in the seat. "He won't recognize you," I say, a little confused about why she feels the need to do that. While I'm looking at her, the boy's come up to the car. I repeat what Skye just said as he taps on the window, presumably ignoring the call his mom is currently making.

Reluctantly, I roll it down. "Hi," I say awkwardly.

"What the hell, man?" he asks. I try to tell myself if he was my son, he wouldn't use that kind of language on an adult. But I know how angry he has to be, how much worse language I knew when I was twelve … even if I knew better than to use it in front of the adults. "My mom cried for like a year …"  
"Watch your tone," I say, cutting him off. Because that hurts to know – just like it hurts to know how Audrey cried, how Bobbi and Tom cried in the six weeks before they cleared my immediate family to know, how many people from my pre-S.H.I.E.L.D. life probably said a prayer for me …

"You're not my dad," he says petulantly. I resist the urge to tell him to watch his tone again. He has a right to be angry – he has every right. He's just looking out for his mom.

"I know that. I know it's wrong – but it's not a lie. Not totally. I was dead – I died on the operating table. Even my own family, my own brother, didn't know I was alive for six weeks. No one outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. is supposed to know – if I could have told your mom, I would have."

"Why? Why does everyone have to think you're dead?" he asks. It's an armor-piercing question.

"You'll be the first to know if I figure that out – but look, you can't tell your mom. You know what it'll do to her." I'm doing a terrible thing – saddling him with a secret a lot of adults would find hard to keep.  
"But …" he starts to protest.

"If they ever clear me, I'll tell her myself – there's something really wrong going on, and I'm going to find out what, and in the meantime I can't put anyone I care about in danger." He nods – and honestly I'm kind of impressed with myself for being able to talk him down so quickly. And then I realize what I said – but I do still care about her, even if it's not in a romantic way anymore.

"I won't tell her, or anyone," he says. "But … you better come and tell her, if you can, sometime."

"I will," I promise, and I mean it. "You should go – your mom has something to tell you," I say. He's going to get the worst news of his life – I remember that pain very well.

I also know he probably won't keep the secret – it's a security compromise I should warn Fury about.

But I'm not going to – I'm not even going to tell anyone but Skye. "We speak of this to no one," I say to Skye, and she nods. I don't know how well she'll keep it, but the person she's most likely to tell is Simmons who probably knows better. Hopefully knows better.

I keep watching as the boy walks into the house, already upset by seeing me. I have to stop myself from wincing when his Mom sees him and starts to cry for the first time, knowing what she has to tell him. "Mom? Why are these people here?" he asks, confused. He doesn't know to be worried – why would he? His dad had nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D. He just has no idea why they're here.

"Dylan … Dylan come sit down," Whitney says, but manages not to cry yet. That's a new development – she could never stop the tears.

"Mom … you're scaring me …" But he goes to sit by her.

"Honey … your dad is gone."  
"Gone?" he asks, his voice shaking. "Gone like dead? What happened?"

"We don't know much yet – your father was found dead this morning," Ward explains. Dylan looks down at the ground, hands deliberately folded in his lap, and makes an obvious effort not to cry, but a couple of tears fall onto his hands. Whitney puts an arm around him and hugs him around the shoulders. "We're not at liberty to discuss the details. We think it may be connected to someone who had a grudge against your mother's late ex-husband." Dylan looks up and shoots him a hateful look – a look that says, "I know you're lying about Coulson." But he doesn't say anything out loud. He probably hates me – I don't have anything to do with him, but judging by the pictures he's had to hear about me constantly and now he probably thinks I got his dad killed.

"We need to post guards around your home to make sure that you and your mom are safe – we may even need to have someone go to school with you until this is resolved. Is that acceptable?" May asks, treating him like an adult.

"Yeah, I guess so," he says sullenly as he looks back down at his hands. He is crying but … I thought he would be inconsolable. Then again … his dad is still married to the wife he had when Dylan was conceived, and he's not in any of the pictures with him.

For a second I think I should have stayed.

Only a second.

"Phillip …" She never called me by my full name except when it was really bad.

"Tell me what's wrong right now," I said firmly, wiping her tears away and taking her by both hands. I wasn't leaving her like that any longer – not for another minute. Even the short drive home would be too long – so I left the keys in the ignition and didn't start it.

"I … I'm pregnant," she said softly, miserably, choking on the words.

"Is something wrong with the baby?" I asked, and my throat got tight, thinking of the two miscarriages she'd already had.

"No. The baby's fine," she said softly. I'd been gone four months, and she wasn't showing at all, and part of me knew … but there was a disconnect and I wouldn't let myself believe it. My next thought was maybe she was just hormonal … even when she was only pregnant for two months the first time, she was a train wreck.

"Then what's wrong?" I asked, running my fingers through her hair as my heart soared. For just one moment, I was going to be a daddy and everything was perfect.

"It's not yours, Phillip," she said, once again choking on the words. I was thinking, _no, this isn't happening. That's not funny, Whitney – what's really the matter?_

"Wh … what?"  
"I've … I've been seeing someone else." If she'd said anything else – it was a mistake, it was a fling, it was just one time, even the nauseatingly stupid "it was an accident" – anything that implied, "I'm sorry," it would have been easier. I might even have stayed. But not that. "Seeing someone else," conveyed it was deliberate, made it sound casual. Like it was nothing that I was off risking my life to keep her country safe and she was screwing another man.

So I decided to let her have him and left without ever looking back. I left her crying in the car and went home with John – I stayed at his place until I found my own. I got all my things when I knew she'd be at work and then left the key on the kitchen table. The only time I ever saw her again was in court – that's the only reason I knew what Fabron looked like. So considerate that guy – driving his heavily pregnant girlfriend to court to sign her divorce papers, then apparently going back home to his wife and kids. Really classy.

I almost didn't sort it out when John got him deported with a false Interpol notice what was probably a few days after Dylan was born – but of course I did. That's the only reason I knew his wife's name (I assumed, apparently incorrectly, it was soon-to-be-ex-wife) – or that they had four kids and he was an architecture professor. It was not at all fun trying to explain to INS that Fabron wasn't really a trafficker in homemade puppy and kitten snuff films while trying to cover John's ass and not reveal that abuse of power – he never understood why I was not amused.

I guess Dylan was really the one to pay for all of it, in the end, and he was the one who least deserved it. He didn't ask for any of this.

He should have been mine – his eyes should be blue instead of brown and his hair should be straight and brown instead of curly and black. We should have been together in those pictures on that mantle – no actually he should be with his mother because I took the pictures because I hate having my picture taken.

I turn my head so Skye won't see my eyes shining … my façade has enough cracks as it is.

Ward starts to repeat the same questions he asked Whitney – about whether or not he's seen anything unusual. Dylan says no to them all – he didn't see anything. May excuses herself and Ward, thanking mother and son for their courtesy and apologizes for not being able to share anything. "Thank you for letting us know – I know how S.H.I.E.L.D. can be. I'm glad to get any information at all about why there will be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents parked outside," Whitney says.

"Well we needed to ask questions," Ward says matter-of-factly. Which is true … if we didn't, we'd just have some agents patrolling her area.

"You must miss him too," Whitney says to May as they get up to leave. She hasn't shown she recognized her all this time – she only met her once or twice while we were married, and I was hoping she didn't recognize her. Dylan looks up at them with hatred again, which of course his mother doesn't see.

"I do," May lies effortlessly. "He was a good agent, and a good man." Dylan is biting his lip now, but he doesn't say anything. I wonder if he'll tell her when we're gone – I can only desperately hope he doesn't.

"We're sorry for your loss," Ward says, closing out the interaction, and they show themselves out and I hear Dylan start to sob. Maybe I was too hasty in that assumption – maybe Fabron made time for him and the four kids with his wife and was just dad of the damn year. Or maybe he's crying because he knows his dad's chances are up – even though he would have given him endless chances, if it were up to him.

For some reason, that thought hits close to home, even though my relationship with my dad was great, until the day he died.

"You okay Phil?" May asks as she climbs in the driver's side and starts the car.

"I'm fine," I say, and by now I've got my emotions in check, so she doesn't know I'm lying. Probably.

"Notice anything we should know about?" she asks.  
"No … I don't think she knows anything else. Not that she would, if it's Asgardian. What's ETA on security detail?"

"Five minutes," Ward answers.

"I think she'll be safe that long," I say, even though part of me wants to say right here. "Did we call a detail for my family yet?"  
"Yes."  
"So … I should warn Bobbi first before she notices, if she hasn't already," I say.

"That would be wise," May agrees. I dial her personal cell phone number, hoping against hope she hasn't noticed yet.

It rings twice, Bobbi answers on the third. "Why is there a security detail at the university?" she asks angrily. So much for that.

"Someone's trying to … I don't know what they're trying to do, but it involves me – there's a detail on your brother and your Uncle Tom as well."  
"What?! Are you okay, Phil?" She tended not to bother with the "uncle" part of it when referring to me, but did when she referred to Tom – probably because I was so much younger than him, and because she never lived with Tom.

"I'm fine – we're just being cautious," I insist. "Is Clint with you?"

"No, he's at home." I should have known – it's not like he knew anything was going on. I hope he's okay.  
"Go home now – stay there until I tell you otherwise."

"Phil, you're scaring me …"  
"It's the case I'm working on – there's been these … animal attacks … it sounds crazy but I think it has to do with a certain Asgardian I may have angered."

"What do you think Clint can do that the detail can't?" she asks stubbornly.

"He's a better shot – and anyway, he'll be worried too." And you can keep your eye on him, I add mentally.

"Phil … how do you know that whatever this is, is about you?"

"I … the victims have included some of Audrey's neighbors and the father of Whitney's baby."  
"Is that the real reason you asked where Clint was?" she asks, and she keeps her voice steady but I still hear the worry in it.

"Yes," I admit.

"Oh my God …"  
"The attack was just this morning – this thing is fast but not that fast, I don't think. Hang up and call him. Stay together at all times, and be careful," I say.

"Okay. I'll check in later tonight."

"Please do."

She hangs up, and I call the last number I knew was good for Tom. Thankfully, it still works – James answers. "Hello," he says excitedly. I'm almost sorry to ruin his good day.

"Hello Mr. Reid," I say. He was never cleared to know I'm still alive, or even that I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., but I've never met him in person, only talked to him once or twice on the phone, and usually not for anything longer than asking for Tom. He never remembers my voice, so I feel like I'll get away with the lie I tell next. "I'm Agent Ward with the FBI, I'm just calling to inform you that we have an active case which could potentially endanger the family of Agent Coulson. You and your partner's risk is considered minimal, but we've assigned a detail to your neighborhood just in case. Be cautious but not alarmed."

"Easier said than done, Agent Ward," he says with a good-natured laugh. I think I'd like him, if Tom ever let me meet him. For God's sake … they've got to have been together for, at minimum, twenty-five years, if not longer. I wonder if his family has also gone a quarter of a century without meeting Tom, or if it's just the Coulsons. I understood it when Mom was alive but now … "But … Philly's been dead ... must be about two years now. Why would someone be going after his family now?" I wince at the name no one but Bobbi has called me since I was eleven – and even she hasn't called me that since she was about eight or so. But of course it would be how Tom thinks of me, even if he doesn't call me that to my face. I'm very glad I'm the one that made the call.

"The perpetrator is likely unaware of that," I say, in explanation. "But as I said – the risk to you is considered minimal, as the perpetrator appears to be moving westward rather than eastward."  
"Better call Tom's niece too," he says. "I think she was a professor at USC or something." Or something.

"She's my next call," I say, not entirely sure why I bother with such a trivial lie. Maybe to make him feel more important. "Have a good day, Mr. Reid."  
"You too, Agent."

The last is Ben – there's no answer when I call so I leave a message to stay inside if at all possible and try not to be alarmed by the detail, also identifying myself as Agent Ward with the FBI in case his girlfriend hears it first.

As we get close to the bus, I see that the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. is here. Damn. "Why's everyone here?" Skye asks.

"Looks like I'm going into isolation," I say with a sigh, resigned. "What do you think are the odds they'll let me be involved from a distance?" I ask May.

"Not good. But … it's probably better this way, Coulson. It has your attention – it may come for you next. Getting you away may draw it away from Bobbi," she says. She has a point, and that's the only reason I'm not mad as hell.

Hill's waiting for us when May pulls up and parks within the cargo hold. "Is Fury here?" I ask as I step out. Now's as good a time as any to have a chat with him if he is.

"No, just me, good to see you too," Hill answers coolly. "I take it you already know why I'm here?"  
"To take me to a safe house," I say, not letting myself bristle at the new connotation that term has taken on. "Can I take Simmons and Fitz and their lab equipment?"  
"Yes, they're already packing it up – we still need your head in this, we just need you somewhere safe," she says, surprising me. Of course, Fury's been eager to give me what I want ever since I came back … and now I know why.

"Okay then – I guess I better go get my things and help them pack up," I say.

"Good idea – we'll escort you as soon as you're ready."

"Brrr … I felt ice in that exchange," Skye says as we walk away in the general direction of living quarters.

"Listen to me Skye – you stay with May and Ward and do whatever they tell you," I say firmly. She looks concerned at this direction, so I elaborate. "Hill will not approve of you. If she sees the least little excuse to kick you out, she will. So you better keep every toe in line. Avoid her if you can, but follow all her orders when you have to."

"Yes sir," she says, and seems worried.

"You'll be fine," I say with a smile, but it's a bluff. I should have asked if I could take her too – but I knew what the answer would have been.

I've always hated doing work from a safe distance – letting other people do the dangerous work for me. But I guess I have no choice, at least until this creature's dealt with. I can only hope that's soon.

* * *

It was the first time I was shot … well, the second time. The first time as an agent. I hit the deck as trained, hand on my weapon, looking for cover from which I could fire back. My brain is on automatic, and I do what I've been trained to do for years. I duck behind an open cabinet door and get into shooting position. I get a lucky shot to the face of an IRA thug, dropping him to the dirty kitchen floor in a rapidly growing pool of blood. My first kill, and all I know about him was he was some angry Irish kid even younger than me – I never even saw his face. One of his buddies got me in the thigh, but the pain didn't even register at first. That sounds ridiculous – how do you not know you've been shot? The short answer: adrenaline can kill all your pain.

I slid back to better shelter, behind the island counter completely, only registering the pain after I felt my hand come away from my thigh slick with blood – just like in a cartoon when the coyote doesn't fall until he looks down. Even when the searing pain hit me full force, I stayed calm – panicking does no good in any crisis, especially not when I still had two very displeased IRA guys bearing down on me and my back-up was already late. I could have gone into the pantry but then I would have been trapped and I doubted the flimsy little door would be much help against bullets. I got the second guy in the shoulder and then ducked down again. Both of them fired but missed – they charged around the counter, cursing at me and telling me to give up, but I slid ahead of them so it stayed between us, and then I was the one closer to the door. I lunged for it, almost slipping in blood, and managed to get out the door before they could fire. In the cover of the hall, I couldn't believe my luck – an open window, and we were only on the second story. I made the escape with ease, ducking out the window and falling so I wouldn't get hurt and rolled right to my feet to run like hell, running with very little pain thanks to my friend adrenaline. They fired after me but missed by a mile. Not the most impressive story for my first firefight, but discretion is the better part of valor.

As soon as I jumped into the van Garret was driving on the wrong side of the road and slammed the door, I grabbed the armrests and cursed a blue streak as the pain hit all at once and I couldn't imagine why human beings were able to register so much pain, what evolutionary purpose it could possibly serve. Except of course as a way to say, "Don't do that, you idiot." "Watch your mouth sailor," John teased, and I almost hit him. Then he was the one cursing as he realized he was on the wrong side again as he gets honked at by understandably irate Irish drivers.

"This is so stupid, why can't they drive on the right side like everyone else?!" he demanded as he rapidly corrected himself. "That's a lot of blood," he noted, seeing how quickly it was pooling at my feet when he glanced over at me.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," I snapped as I ripped off my jacket to press against it as hard as I could.

"Should … should I go to the extraction point or the hospital?" he asked.

"They'll have medics when they get us out," I said through gritted teeth, forcing myself to calm down. I was fairly certain we'd just blown our first international mission, considering our exit was about as inconspicuous as a pink elephant. At least I got the transaction and a name on the wiretap and a suitcase full of evidence currently being watched over by May – I was playing an Irish-American guy taking part in a highly illegal fundraiser for the homeland involving heroin, hash, and opium. The Brits appreciated the evidence of the drug deal – we were after the name. Someone was providing the IRA and the Revolutionary United Front in Sierra Leone with tech that officially didn't even exist yet, and we had just obtained a possible name for a dealer. All though, I knew that the chances he wasn't about to be alerted were probably less than zero given the circumstances, but I told myself it'd be a starting place. (It was – they caught the guy two months later.)

"That's a lot of blood …"  
"There will be a lot more if they call their buddies to shoot us in the head," I snapped.

Our then state-of-the-art cell phone the size of a waffle iron rang and I answered despite the blood on my hands because I knew Garret didn't need any help being distracted from driving on the correct side of the road. "Coulson, how bad did you screw it up?" May asked. She played my girlfriend – she took the suitcase while I hung back to chat, under the pretense of making sure we had enough time to get everything sufficiently disguised for the trip back to the US.

"I was almost out – I was literally stepping out the door when they patted me down. I think they got a tip," I answered, annoyed she assumed it was my fault.

"Or they saw Garret circling the house on the wrong side of the damn road," she snapped. I decided not to repeat that to him.

"May – just let Fury know I need a medic," I said shortly.

"Why?" she asked worriedly, not quite as collected then at the age of twenty-four as she was later.

"Gunshot wound in my thigh, the bullet is still embedded … I think it was a twenty-two."  
"You think? What kind of agent are you?" Garret taunted.

"Well excuse me for not sitting there and looking at it while it was pointed at my face," I snapped – I wasn't as collected back then either. "I'm putting pressure on it – there's … really a lot of blood."

"Well then put down the phone and use both hands – I'm going to go the long way around but I should be there in twenty." I hung up and set it down, and leaned back against the seat cursing again.

It turned out the bullet missed my femoral artery by about an inch – if I'd been hit there I would have bled out in three minutes. As it was, it was just a bullet to remove to make an ugly scar, despite the fact I bled all over that van. _Thanks sis, _I thought to myself when I got that news. I know it's dumb, and I'd never tell anyone … but sometimes I think Emily's watching over me. Especially when I was younger, the first few times I almost died, I'd feel grateful to her afterwards. After a while though … even mortal peril becomes routine.

Every now and then though … like when I'm dodging a blast from the Destroyer for instance … I still feel it. She was there when I died – she hugged me and said, "Welcome home, little brother," as the curtain rolled back to … whatever was on the other side.

Once we were all at a safe distance and I'd been taken care of medically, the debriefing commenced. Which was not as painful as I had feared – Fury agreed with my theory someone tipped them off, which presented a host of troubling questions to be investigated by Fury and the more experienced half of the team. For now, our work was done and it was on to the next case.

"You gonna tell your wife you got shot?" Fury asked me as I took back my effects from the bucket where we kept anything that could identify us, including my wedding ring.

"I'll have to – she'll notice," I answered. I was not looking forward to the conversation – if I could avoid it I told her nothing about the work I did. I let her think it was all this big romantic James Bond thing with less shooting and threats of other bodily harm and a complete absence of Bond girls. The only time I ever told her even half the truth was when I was injured – and even then I minimized the hell out of it. Like this story … is definitely going to involve one guy and no mention of how close it was to being a fatal gunshot wound. "I'll buy her something …"  
"Another stuffed animal?" he asked, in a tone that said he was trying to drop a hint I should get her something else and stop enabling her.

"Maybe … some perfume or something," I waffled, even though I already knew it was going to be the little bear dressed like a tower yeoman I saw at the airport on the way in at Heathrow airport. He raised an eyebrow and I knew he knew that was a lie.

John dropped me off at my place since the stitches in my leg were not conducive to driving and Whitney was still at work. It had been a while since he'd been to our place so he took a moment to look around at the stuffed animals, many of which were new. "Jesus Christ in Heaven," he said in this exasperated tone, like he was genuinely, meekly asking Jesus to come and bear witness to this horror. "There's even more than last time."  
"We took some more to storage too," I said, even though I knew pretty much exactly what that would make him say.

"Storage? She has more in _storage_?"

"A couple of boxes," I said, which was a severe downplaying.

"And let me guess who pays for that," he said.

"She does," I insisted. All though that meant I had to pay for pretty much everything else because she didn't make very much. I made myself the target of further mockery as I carefully moved some of her bears aside to sit down on the couch. John just knocked some aside.

"So did she let you keep your balls in a jar or does she just carry those in her purse?" he asked after a good laugh.

I decided to loudly ignore him instead of trying to explain what it was like to see her sitting on the curb crying after going home to find out her mom either gave away or threw away everything of hers she left when she moved into the dorms – clothes, toys, all the stuffed animals, and all her artwork. To feel like it was my fault, because her mother only threw it out because she was dating me. I turned DC upside down, looking in every thrift shop and pawn shop until I found her letter jacket and the charm bracelet her dad gave her (which of course had teddy bears on it), but I never got anything else back. Maybe she also reminded me of Mom – every time I visited Mom I had to step over a pile of magazines mom saved in case they were valuable one day. And it's not like I had room to talk.

"One thing about it – she doesn't say anything about my stuff," I said, trying to redirect it back in my favor.

"Coulson, I doubt she _notices _you have stuff," he said, looking skeptically at the pile of bears on the loveseat.

I shrugged. "Toss me the remote. You gonna hang around?"  
"Yeah … I want to see the look on her face when she sees what getting 'grazed' looks like." Great.

She came home earlier than expected – I thought we'd be waiting at least an hour, but we were barely in the door when I heard her key turn in the lock. "Baby!" she said worriedly and ran over to me, completely ignoring John. She pushed some bears aside to sit down by me and put me in a choking embrace, and I just hugged back and smiled.

"I thought you had to work today," I said. It was Wednesday … she had work-study on Wednesdays that semester.

"I told them my husband got shot," she answered and kissed my cheek. That probably raised some eyebrows, considering the official line she had to tell them was I worked in accounting for the FBI. But I don't think she ever cared. "How bad was it? Let me look!" John cleared his throat, and she finally looked up and acknowledged him.

"Oh, hi John," she said awkwardly, but then took her chance. "How bad was it really?" Behind her back I shook my head at him, but of course he smirked at me and told the truth.

"A couple more centimeters and you'd be a widow, darling."

"Baby," she repeated and hugged me tighter. I mouthed cursewords at him over her shoulder. Then she kissed me again, this time on the mouth, and instead of doing what I would normally do, which is keep it chaste until we were alone, I kissed back like no one was watching and held her in that kiss until John cleared his throat again.

"I guess I'll head on home," he said awkwardly.

"Oh John I'm sorry … do you want anything to drink before you go?" Whitney asked, pulling away from me and swatting my hand when I tried to pull her back.

"Oh no, Mrs. Coulson … I think I better leave you two kids alone," he said with a smirk and showed himself out.

"He knows that bugs me," she said when the door shut.

"Why? You don't like my last name?" I asked, teasing, knowing the real reason before she said it.

"I hate being called Mrs. … it makes me feel old," she answered. "Come on … show me how bad it was," she insists. I start undoing my belt and she goes to "help me" and it takes twice as long just to get that off – she was never good at helping me get undressed.

"Sweetie if you'd let me do it you'd already be looking at my scars now."

"I'm sorry," she said and pulled her hands back and I pulled down my pants and let her see the fresh stitches.

"Oh Baby," she whispered, starting to cry. Which was what I was afraid of.

"It's not that bad – I barely felt it," I lied. "I brought you a bear," I said, changing the subject. "Open my suitcase."

"I'll look in a second," she said – that was unusual. She could never resist the bears. She was kissing me again and when she started trying to unbutton my shirt I knew she had something else on her mind.

"Sweetie … sweetie … not right now," I said quickly. The wound was not in the best spot for that – I winced in pain just at the thought. She slid off the couch to kneel by me and I put a hand on her shoulder.

"No … that's degrading," I said, because I was an idiot.

"Not if you return the favor when you're feeling better," she said, resting her head on my unwounded thigh and looking up at me eagerly.

"Um … let's just … take a rain check …" I said awkwardly, because I was an idiot.

"Okay," she said, disappointed, and climbed back up to sit by me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Wanna watch a movie?" I asked, after the silence had become awkward.

"Which one?"

"_Dirty Dancing_," I suggested – we watched that one a lot.

"Not after you turned me down," she said harshly. "I know why you like that one." I blushed – I thought I had kept it hidden pretty well that I had kind of a crush on Baby. "It's okay … it doesn't bug me, usually," she said, more softly, and went to my suitcase. She squealed when she saw the bear – I knew she would.

There was a long silence and then, out of nowhere, she said, "I'm ready to have a baby, Phillip."

"What?" I asked, so shocked I almost stood up. The pain in my leg stopped me from actually doing so.

"We've been married for over a year and … I don't know how do you feel about it?"

"You're not asking because you're pregnant and trying to gauge my reaction right?"  
"No, Phil – I'm not."  
"Really?"  
"Yes."

"Well I …" We had both agreed we wanted kids early on … but I wasn't sure about having kids right at that moment. "You've still got to finish school …"

"Okay Phil … I don't know if anyone ever told you how this works but it takes nine months …" she teases.

"It's actually ten," I answer in the same tone.  
"It's forty weeks. Which is closer to nine months because only February has exactly four weeks. Only people who can't do math use the 'it's actually ten months' thing. You're an accountant you should know better," she teases back.

"I'm glad you remember the official story," I said, with an edge of scolding in it.

"Anyway it's nine months and I'll hopefully be teaching by then …" she said, shifting it back.

"I don't know. Maybe we should wait until you have the job before … I mean they may not want to hire someone who's going to have to go on maternity leave in just a few months."  
"Or I could just take a few years before I started working … be a stay-at-home mom."

"I don't make enough money for you to be a stay-at-home mom, sweetheart," I said sadly. "I wish I did."  
"Can we agree that if I win the lottery we'll have a baby?"

"You're buying lottery tickets again?" I asked, annoyed. She was smart enough to understand the chances of winning the jackpot were like getting hit by lightning twice, and the intermediate prizes were also really slim.

"Someone has to win."

"Fair enough," I said with a heavy sigh, deciding to mentally write off the lottery tickets as a donation to the Maryland public school system, and gave her a kiss. "If you do win the lottery – and I'm going to specify either the jackpot or the second prize so you don't try to rope me in with some five dollar prize – I would agree to immediate attempts to conceive a child," I said in a formal tone and kissed her neck.

She giggled and said, "Okay I'll hold you to it." And that was it for that conversation at that time.

* * *

I could hear how shaky her voice was. It was just as shaky as it had been when she called earlier … with the mission over, I wasn't going to let it go this time. But she volunteered the information. "I lost the baby," she said, with hello barely out of the way.  
"What?" I asked in disbelief, loss stabbing at my chest like a knife.

"I went to my appointment and … Dr. Riggs couldn't find a heartbeat. They had me all scheduled for … to have everything taken out … but then I started bleeding and they said … my body took care of it after all …"  
"Your appointment was last week, you said everything was fine," I said, trying not to sound angry even though I was. She'd been carrying this alone for over a week. Going to work, going on with her life … all while having to tell people offering congratulations that they weren't needed anymore. And I didn't know.

"I know … I knew wherever you were, you didn't need to be distracted …"

"Whitney I …"  
"You're not the only one who lies, Phil," she said. I didn't know what to say to that.  
"I'll be home soon sweetheart," I said, trying to keep my own voice from shaking.

* * *

There are some things that, once you see them, you never unsee them.

The compound was one. It belonged to a cult that was involved in international arms deals with some very unsavory people, so S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved. We surrounded the compound for hours with no response, then heard gunshots from the inside – so we went in with guns at the ready, expecting to meet resistance.

Instead we found dozens of bodies. Men, women, children. The youngest was just three months old – his tiny neck must have been easy to break. His mother still held him in her arms – we never did figure out if she broke his neck and then waited for death or if someone else did it for her. I don't guess it matters. I kneeled by him a long time – having to stop myself from reaching out to touch his little blond head. I kneeled there, staring at his eyes open in fear even in death, and I was mad at his mother, mad at the cult leader, mad at God. "You okay Coulson?" Garret asked. He was the more coolheaded between us, for once. I would have thought this would be worse, given his background.

"Why?" I asked when I could speak.

"Well because I was starting to think you had ice in your veins but you look like you're about to hurl."

"I mean … why did she do it? Why did she let them kill her baby?"  
"She probably did it," he said coldly. "Cults, militias … they're the same. The cause is the only thing that matters. She only ever saw him as a little soldier anyway."  
"It's not fair. It's not _fair_," I muttered, thinking of the two babies Whitney and I had lost before they were ever born. The little boy in front of me was probably around the age our second baby would have been if he had lived … he might even have looked like this …

"No one said life was fair," Garret said as he walked over. "Come on, Coulson … if you're gonna hurl it had better not be here."

"I'm not going to vomit," I protested, trying to shake myself out of it.

"If you're gonna cry it better not be here," he said roughly, but he helped me up and put his arm around my shoulders. "Hey, hey … It's okay. I know what it is. It's okay. Go help tag the weapons in the crate." That was a better idea – I could keep my head down so no one would know I had lost my cool.

Two days later, when I got home, that little baby was still burned in my eyelids. Every time I closed my eyes I saw him, spattered with his mother's blood and his head at an angle it never should have been … I went straight to the shower without saying a word. "Phil?" Whitney asked as I set my bags down. She followed me to the bathroom, standing at the door while I stripped off to climb in. "Phil? What happened?"

"Nothing," I lied as I tossed my clothes in a pile and started the shower. I couldn't have told her even if I wanted to – it was classified.

"Nothing you can't tell me or nothing nothing?" she asked, and I just didn't answer and started the water. I stood under the hot stream of water, letting it wash away days of the filth of field work and maybe hoping it would go deeper than the skin.

The next thing I knew, the stream of water was interrupted by my wife standing in front of me, wrapping her arms around me. I opened my eyes and saw she didn't even take her clothes off first – just came right in. I was very surprised to hear myself laughing. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I know you can't tell me, but I'll still try to help you carry it, if you let me," she said softly.

"You can't," I said bluntly. I didn't know what else to say.

"I'll still try." But the thing was I knew she couldn't – just like I was gone all the time so I couldn't help her carry her father or the babies or any of that. Maybe I knew it wouldn't last then – but I didn't say anything. I just let her stand there and held her, wishing I could let her in.

* * *

**Author's Note II**

So just pretend he mentioned getting protective details for his nephew Ben in Atlanta back in Chapter 4 from the get-go. I've since edited that chapter to say that because I only realized afterwards that I didn't have him mention it.

I have generally found that "nobody talk about the apocalypse" thing to be true. I kind of see Coulson being a not-all-that-devout mainline Protestant or Catholic (not relevant yet but I went with still-technically-Catholic for the story) with very religious parents so he may have had a few of his own awkward brushes with more religious friends about the End of Days.

"I have better things to do than whine about her to anyone who will listen." Okay, that _may _have been my little dig at Hunter. Okay it totally was.

Baby is played by Jennifer Gray, who happens to be the real-life wife of Clark Gregg (Coulson's actor). Just a cutesy little actor allusion there.

Most sociopaths can fake empathy – hence the scene with Garret at the cult compound.

I really struggled to keep the stuff with Whitney short. I know that's not what y'all are here for. But I also knew if I didn't establish what their relationship was like, why he was with her, it would just be like, "Well why was he with her if she was so bad?" And also so I could make sure to show it was not perfect on either end.

Originally I had how they met, which was when he was bodyguard for the former deputy director of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s bratty teenage daughter and Whitney was one of her classmates (he was still at the Academy so only twenty and she was eighteen so it wasn't creepy), inspired by urban legends of Senators abusing their power to have young FBI agents accompany their teenage daughters to school, but it established a lot of the same things that first time he was shot did and I thought that one had more value for humor and action plus established the prayer thing which will be important later. I like their meeting – it's cute and all, but this is a horror/mystery story, after all, not a romantic comedy, so it got the blue pen. About the only thing lost was why Coulson's mother-in-law had a fit and threw all her daughter's stuff out – she was a virulent anti-government person because of Vietnam (her husband came back from the war there hooked on opium and violent and she had to leave him, which is why the presents from Whitney's dad were so important to find in the aftermath of the tantrum) and did not take it well when she found out her daughter was dating a federal agent. I also originally had a bit with Garret embarrassing Coulson by telling everyone at the Academy that he finally lost his virginity when he had stayed out all night to stay with Whitney the first time – but while I think it was funny it didn't add anything. They might both be included in the "deleted scenes" when I finish the story proper.

Also, before AOS decided that S.H.I.E.L.D. makes the baffling hiring practice of hiring kids right out of high school (I am unclear on how they know high school kids have potential to be spies … maybe from who can hide their porn and sneak out after curfew the best), I had written this chapter's flashback with Coulson as an MP (military police officer) and she was an Army brat he fell for when he was nineteen and she was seventeen and they got married to stay together when he was getting transferred. That scene with the shower thing happened while he was investigating a horrible murder on base, and his work on it is what got Fury's attention. Also to be included in deleted scenes because damn it I was proud of that chapter.


	10. Chapter 9: Caged (Fenrir)

Chapter 9

Caged

Fenrir

**Author's Note**

Keep in mind during the father/son confrontation at the end that Loki and Fen are about the same age emotionally … if you've ever seen a really immature parent fight with their teenage child, you know that's a recipe for disaster. They're both overreacting and being dramatic, and therefore not getting anywhere useful.

Also there's one part of this that looks like it's going to go to a really uncomfortable place but I promise, no wolf porn. I just thought I should clarify since this _is _the Internet where dark and scary things live and I don't want anyone to bail unnecessarily, especially after the last Fen chapter had so much adult content.

* * *

I'm still amazed how quickly the pen was finished. My life now is a two thousand square foot pen, a third of it covered for shelter in inclement weather and the rest open to the fresh air. The stone walls of the pen are fifty feet high – and just in case I ever get big and strong enough to jump it, I wear a chain around my neck that would ensure that if I tried to jump over the fence and managed it, I'd just hang myself, assuming my guard didn't take enough pity on me to run me through before I strangled. I'm glad my grandfather found a merciful solution to keep me from rampaging through his kingdom. If I'm really good, I get to go out of the pen to the palace now and then – it's not a privilege I ask for anymore, but rather an odious duty I attend to as part of my act of never-failing, always obedient devotion.

Thor is my most frequent visitor – he comes to see me most days and enters the pen despite the guards' protests. He worries that the pen won't be big enough to hold me when I'm fully grown.

_By then, Uncle Thor, I'll be a real boy. _I insist.

"Of course you will be," he says and gives me a playful shove, but he hesitates before he speaks. I'm over twice as long as he is tall now – as big as some of the giant wolves. And I'm not even half-grown. Well, even if I stay a wolf, Thor will still love me. I walk over a few steps and find the discarded beam from when they built my den – when Father isn't looking Thor and I play fetch. I pick up the beam with my mouth and bring it to him, wagging my tail. "You sure you'll risk it? Your Father is near."

_He won't see. I'll pretend we were trying to find a better place to put it if he sees us._

"All right," he says with a laugh and takes it from me. He gives it a heave and sends it flying across the pen – I run after it and bring it back. It's not far either to throw it or to fetch it, but we make the best of it. And so on and so forth for almost an hour, until I'm panting hard and he sweats a little and we decide we've tempted fate enough. I set the beam down where we usually leave it, and he scratches my ears. No one else scratches my ears and I love it. "I have to be going now, princeling."  
_That's fine. Thank you for playing with me. _

I always miss Thor as soon as he's gone.

Father sees me every day at first. The first few weeks he even slept at my side, determined to sit vigil by me until the Allfather relented. I begged him to go inside as winter approached – even as warm-natured as he is, I was worried for him trying to endure the cold without the warm coat I have. Even when he relented and started to sleep inside, he still saw me every day and spent most of his free time with me – which was less and less because the Allfather had suddenly given him a slew of new duties. If he ever missed a day, it was because he was in service of the Allfather.

And then he began to miss more and more days, and finally an entire week, and then another – I worriedly asked Thor if the Allfather had sent him away. "No Fen – your Father just … he'll be out to see you tomorrow," Thor said, with such certainty I knew that Father was just avoiding me.

_Doesn't he want to see me?_

"Please understand, Fenrir, that even if you don't see him, your Father's thoughts are always with you – he spends all his days in the libraries or traveling the realms these days, searching for the power or secret that will allow him to undo the curse on you …"

_Doesn't he know I need to see him, though? _I asked in pathetic tears. I'd never gone so long without seeing my father.

"I will send him to you tomorrow," Thor said, hoping to keep me calm, almost in tears himself as he frantically stroked my ears, trying to calm me.

_Will he not love me anymore if he never finds an answer?_

"Fen – firstly, your Father will never, no matter what he is presented with, accept that he will never find the answer," he said, and I knew that he thought that I would never be a real boy, and for the first time my faith in yet waivered. "And secondly and more importantly, nothing, not anything you would do, not any force in all the nine realms, could make your Father stop loving you – and because of how you are treated as a wolf and the shorter life you will lead, that manifests in the first, for better or worse." I quiver, still heartbroken as I try to parse out what Thor meant from what I feel his words mean, and letting it sink in that I will never be a real boy. That all the things I was promised will never be. "I will send him to you tomorrow," he repeats as he strokes my ears.

When Father comes, he is sorry that he's been away for so long, but the circles under his eyes testify to the truth in Thor's tales that he spends all his days trying to cure me. He stays with me talking for a long time – telling me all he has tried without success, all the ancient tomes he has read through, all the mages on other worlds he has spoken with. All of it sounds like one sentence to me, even though I know it's not fair – "I only care about making you normal." I smile throughout, and encourage him, telling him he'll find the answer – for the first time in my life, the encouragement and faith I offer is not entirely sincere. I resolve myself to only seeing him rarely while he chases the thing to give him a normal son.

My other visitors are as expected – Grandmother comes often, to offer me comfort and reassurance that I am a good prince, that she argues for me every day with the Allfather. She never gives me empty promises – and for that I am grateful. Sif and Sigyn come more rarely, but more often than Father. The former tells me all of Father and Uncle Thor's exploits, so that I almost feel I was there – she gives me what glimpse of the outside she can. She knows I am a prisoner and knows she can do nothing to change it – so she brings me the comfort she can, and I am eternally grateful. The latter smuggles me bread and sweets I am not supposed to eat, to remind me of the boy inside, and tells me all the same things Father does. I take it gratefully, even though it sabotages the progress I make towards accepting that my condition is permanent. Whenever she leaves, I feel as though I was cheated by the circumstances of my birth all over again, but I work hard to never show her my resentment of this. I always smile, and force my tail to wag as she tells me I'll be a man one day, even while inside I weep and wish she would scratch my ears the way Uncle Thor does.

* * *

Thor told me in secret once why my parentage is secret – about how even once my curse is lifted, I'll still be half a monster, how I was conceived in fornication with a hated race, how Father wasn't even of age when he sold himself to her for knowledge of ancient magic, and all of these add up to the fact I will never be an heir to throne of Asgard, even if Father ever undoes the curse, which is doubt because for all of Father's studies he has no idea why Jorg and I are cursed … none of this knowledge has made me bitter. At all.

"If I had my way, princeling," Thor said as he wiped my tears away after he explained it all to me. "I'd put you on my shoulders and parade you through all of Asgard, proclaiming your place in line to the throne."

_Uncle Thor, I have not fit on your shoulders for a very long time_, I said, instead of asking why that wasn't what Grandfather wanted too. That made him laugh.

"You're a good boy, Fen – just the way you are," he assured me, and scratched my ears. I didn't doubt Thor was telling me the truth – I don't think Thor's ever lied to me.

* * *

Tyr is the captain of the contingent of guards assigned to guard me – he's reasonable most of the time. Sometimes he even buys me a lame sheep, which would have to be put out of its misery anyway, so I can eat fresh meat for once. He brought me a wounded horse once – it didn't go down easily but I didn't want to be ungrateful, so I ate the meat and tried not to think of Sleipnir. I always kill the poor things quickly – I don't want them to suffer – and I eat quickly (he's probably committing some mild form of treason to do me this kindness) but delicately. As un-wolf-like as possible. Tyr is young, but older than Uncle Thor, tall and broad-shouldered with red hair and a beard. It's odd but he … he smells like Uncle Thor. More like him than Father does. In fact, Father doesn't smell like anyone else – I've always wondered about it but when I was still young enough to ask I got no answers. They can't smell as well as me so they just have to take my word for it.

Tyr knows I can speak – I was told it was okay to speak to him if he's the only one there. Now and then, he comes by at night or very early in the morning, and he sits on the wall, his feet dangling into my pen as a sign of trust. He tells me that he's sorry for the way I have to live – I lie and say it's nothing. "Do you know if you can eat sweets?" he asks one day.

_No … in this regard my body is like that of a wolf._

"That's a shame, Prince." I can smell the sweets in his pocket, but choose not to comment on it. Maybe I'm not supposed to eat sweets, but I most assuredly want to.

_I thank you for thinking of me, Tyr_. I say instead and bow. He is not my friend – I don't allow us to get that close – but I always treat him with respect. He hasn't earned anything less from me.

I suspect Uncle Thor's first act as king will be to open the gates of my prison, assuming I'm still alive, which is likely to not be the case, depending on how long the Allfather clings to this realm. But it will still happen before Father finds a way to lift the curse. He still promises me he'll find it, still speaks in terms of "yet" … but I don't believe in "yet" anymore. Even so, I act as much a prince as I can, despite my imprisonment, despite the fact I gave up, many, many years ago that it will ever change while Odin is alive. I do it to spit in his face – I'll be as good as I can be, while he lives, and I hope it troubles his sleep at night. But it probably doesn't.

* * *

The only time my resolve to be a good prince falters is when I can smell _them._ My mind goes blank as I can think of only one thing – getting to _them_. I try to fill my nostrils with dirt to drown it out, but nothing can. I stand at the walls and howl, sometimes receiving a vague answer, and dig pointlessly. The wall's foundations are deep, and the guards fill them in every morning, and even if could dig under them there would be the guards and my chain to contend with. I dig and then roll in the dirt and dig some more, howling all the while, while wishing wolves could blush with shame. I remember how baffled they all were the first time it happened – I'd smelled it every winter all my life, but it only started to affect me when I was seventy-eight years old. Then suddenly, that scent drove me wild, and I knew why. Once Father finally explained the general concept … I knew lust when I felt it. I just never thought it would be for actual wolves – when I finally figured out about men and women, I had been upset and sad, because I assumed I would want to be with Aesir girls one day, and of course I couldn't be with them because that would be perverse on their part because I have a wolf body. So when I felt that for wolves … mere animals … And even if it weren't for that, Father's fooling around was what got him in so much trouble … I hated myself, even while I struggled to get out, powerless against my own body.

Tyr had called at me to calm down, and acted against me physically for the first time. But it did no good, nothing stopped my still feeble escape attempts. Father and Uncle Thor came to see me, but Tyr wouldn't even let them in the gate – they sat on the wall like he usually did – and the other guards followed orders to clear out against their better judgment. I refused to tell them what it was either, only begged for some of the oils from the castle to coat my fur and nostrils and try to drown out the scent until spring had sprung. "Fenrir, you're going to tell me right now what scent is driving you so mad," Father said while watching me chewing on my chain.

"Loki, we should go, and just get him what he asks for," Thor said softly, getting to his feet, and I knew that he understood, and I was grateful to him.

"Thor I refuse to leave until I know …"  
"Come on, Loki," Thor said more forcefully and yanked Father to his feet. "Our Father was kind enough to let us sort this out on our own when we were his age, you should do the same," he whispered, probably thinking I didn't hear that part.

"What are you …" he cut himself off, and I knew he understood too, and I wanted to curl up in my shelter and die.

Tyr, of course, heard all of this. "You are that age, aren't you?" he asked me mischievously, and I covered my head with my paws with my nose deep in the freshly dug dirt, unsure of whether I was still just trying to drown the smell or smother myself in dirt and get it over with. "And it's that time of year for wolves – not sure going to them is such a good idea though. You'd crush the normal-sized ones …" I'm definitely trying to smother myself with dirt. Does he think I'm so stupid I can't smell and hear the difference?

_It's the giants that … just spare me. _I said with a snarl, and he was surprised at that show of aggression. _I'm sorry. I don't find it funny. I just want it to be over. _

"I'm sorry, I won't tease you about it. Well … I think your father and uncle will be back with the oils soon," he said with a wink, and then called the other guards back. I was afraid he'd explain it to them – he was kind enough not to. All though I think they knew – they'd probably known it all along. They'd seen dogs trying to get after bitches in heat before. And every year, that's all I am for a humiliating month, just as winter starts to lose its grip. By the time spring is in full bloom, I'm a dignified prince again.

Every year, a little bit of my shame dies and my desire to get to _them _only gets stronger, therefore my attempts get more aggressive and less tempered by fancy oils, until I barely eat or drink and no one risks entering my pen for the whole, terrible month. The trend has been noted by my keepers – I hear the guards talking about how Loki should just give up on domesticating me and let me run wild, or at least go out at night during this winter, before I kill someone. They don't understand why he's so horrified at the thought.

This year, the year I am one hundred and two, I am, once again, out of my mind. Yesterday, I tried to jump the fence – much to the alarm of most of the guards for their safety and Tyr for mine. I didn't make it but I was close enough that he immediately organized a dangerous action – they came in my pen and pulled my chain back and pinned it hastily with pegs that probably won't hold but at least it might dampen Father's rage if I do succeed in hanging myself attempting to get out. I managed not to fight back too much and no one was hurt.

I'm trying to sleep but … wolves are nocturnal after all. As hard as I've fought being a wolf, I grow more and more nocturnal, and I have less and less pity for the sheep Tyr is able to bring me now and then. Instead I just sit, cramped in my den, howling in misery as the snow falls gently. "Are you sure this is for the best, Prince?" Tyr asks someone I don't see – I have my nose smeared with so much oil I can't smell much, but somehow the smell of _them_ still manages to torment me, so I don't know who it is.

"I am sure of nothing, Tyr," Thor answers. "But I'm not going to let Fenrir kill himself or anyone else." I sit up, my ears prone.

"Fenrir, I'm coming in. I'm not going to hurt you – I'm going to let you out."

_But … But Father will …_

"I will deal with your father's wrath, Fen." I try desperately to sit still but I'm trembling while Tyr opens the gate and Thor strides through the pen, carrying the key to my iron collar, which hasn't been opened now in five years, except for fitting me with the next size in collar once. "Come back as soon as you can – I'll try to hold off your father until spring, but I can't guarantee it – so do whatever you must as quickly as you can."

_Yes Uncle. _ He places the key in the lock, and then hesitates. He puts both hands on my head and takes a deep breath. I understand why he hesitates … this is acknowledging there's no hope I'll ever be a man, this is full acceptance of my wolfish nature. And even then, it may be an evil thing. It's certainly not what Father wants. His hands shake, which I've never known them to do, but he turns the key. "I love you, nephew – be careful."

_Thank you, Uncle. I know this is hard …_

"Enough of words, you should go now," he says, forcing a smile, and I stumble to my feet, following my nose already. I hurry across the pen to the gate, then hurry through the city towards the woods, where the scent of _them _compels me. I can spare just enough thought to be careful where I run, so that I don't cause any destruction.

Uncle Thor must have already sent messengers to the guards at the city wall – they open the gates as soon as I approach. I can barely squeeze through anymore, but I make it all right.

For three days and three nights, I run, only stopping to hunt and sleep for a few hours at a time. I'm a bit rusty – but I'm bigger now. I can take down almost anything – I even catch a bear the first night in the woods. It was thin since winter is almost over and most of its hibernation fat is gone, but my belly was full for the first time in weeks.

The scent gets stronger as I go on, so I know I'm following in the right direction. I don't think much while I run, but when I do I think about getting home as quick as I can. Will Father be angry? Yes, he certainly will be. But I can't bring myself to care – I just want to slake my lust and end this madness.

The fourth day, I know I must be right on top of the giant she-wolves. Every nerve in my body tingles as I crest the final hill. By now I can make out individual scents, and one in particular draws me – I can tell she is young, probably about my age, and healthy. I look down and I see her – asleep next to a big male and female, her parents. As soon as I see her, I know this is no fling – I will bring her home to Father and she can be my wife. We'll raise our cubs together, and Father will understand it once he sees his grandchildren. She's beautiful – with silken gray fur, and long, long legs and perfect ears … I have never seen anyone so beautiful in my life.

I approach her slowly – I don't know how to do this. I've never seen wolves courting. I lay down beside her and nuzzle her gently. She opens her eyes – lovely, yellow eyes, as bright as the sun – and looks at me with a puzzled look on her face.

_I'm uh … I'm … I am Fenrir Lokison, of Asgard, and I would respectfully ask you to be my bride. _I don't expect her to answer – no non-Aesir has ever answered before. To my surprise, she giggles.

_You're handsome. _It's a wild voice, a deep voice … and it only makes me even more madly in love with her. _You have the most beautiful eyes … But you are so thin …_

_I am starved with love for you. I did catch a bear a few days ago._

_I smell it. It's not every centurion that can kill a bear by himself. _

Maybe I'm not such a terrible wolf after all. _Please, come with me. I can take you to the palace – you'll be a princess. _

_What is this palace you speak of? _She asks, rolling over on her back to look up at me. It's adorable.

_It's the palace of Asgard – where the Allfather reigns._

_Oh – you're the prince's pet we hear sometimes._

That stings a little. _Not his pet – his son. It's a long tale._

_I'm sure – I'll hear it someday. _She rolls to her feet and stands up. _We should go now, before you awaken Alpha. _

_Who … _

_Alpha. He won't like you invading his pack. If we're quiet he won't catch us._

I trot off after her. _But won't you come back to the palace with me?  
_

_Show me what cubs you can give me, and I'll consider it. _Fair enough.

We don't walk very far away from the others – it makes me nervous but I will do what I must. _I … I've never done this before. _

_Nor have I, Prince. Be afraid for the right reasons. _

I decide to stop thinking and let my instincts take over.

It's too bad that Alpha finds us before I can even climb on top of her. He's even bigger than me – a head and shoulders taller than me, and rippling with muscles under his black fur. His teeth are long, longer than normal. Longer than what I think is normal, at an rate. Even at my full strength I would be no match for him, and half-starved I know he'll kill me – I go to the submissive position I've seen dogs offer to dominant animals.

_Go back to your pack and leave my females to my males. _His voice is deep, deeper than any man's, and I can hear the snarl in it.

_I will leave them all but one._ I say defiantly.

_No, Prince – go now, while you can,_ she begs me, and she looks so afraid I almost do.

_Prince? Oh … you're the one we hear making a fuss all winter … why don't you go back to your master, little princeling? _Alpha taunts me. He's backed down a little bit – he doesn't want to fight. Maybe that means I have a chance.

_I am not his pet. I am his son._

_Just like a spoiled pet to say that. _

I lose my temper and I lunge for him. My teeth never make contact.

I struggle and twist away, snapping my teeth and thrashing my paws, but it's no use. I feel flesh in my side tear and bones in my legs break under his jaws. I do some damage, but nearly as much as what he's doing to me. _Fenrir, stop! Please – just let him win and go home, _she begs from the sidelines.

_Yes little Princeling … run on home to "Father!" _Alpha taunts as his teeth rip my ear.

_Never! _

_Please, Fenrir, for me, _she begs. I'll do anything for her, so I stop struggling and submit. He keeps biting me for a moment, just to taunt me. Then stands up.

_See. You don't want any of his seed, Lor. I'll find you a mate from this pack in time. _

I almost attack again out of pride, but I can't even stand on my feet. Lor comes to my side and tries to nudge me to my feet, but I can't even stand.

_He's hurt, _she says with an accusing tone to Alpha.

_That was the intent, _Alpha answers coldly.

_He can't even walk. He'll die._

_Let the prince come and find his pet, _Alpha says coldly.

_No._

_Lor, come back …_

_He can't do anything right now, let me at least help him to shelter, _she pleads.

_As you wish. Be back before dusk._

Lor finds me an empty den – I can still smell the bear that once lived in it – and helps me crawl into it. She licks my wounds, apologizing for not leading me far enough away all the while.

_I'd fight twenty Alphas for you._

_Don't joke about that._ She looks to the entrance and sees the sky – how low the sun is. _I don't know if I can return … I'm afraid Alpha will hurt you again if I disobey him._

_Will I ever see you again?  
_

_I don't know, Prince._

I'm saddened as soon as she leaves – I lay here, hoping to die of my wounds.

I should have known Father wouldn't let me.

The second night, I'm lying in the den, weak from my wounds, which are surely infected, and starvation when I hear a commotion nearby.

I manage to stumble out of the den, shaking. I smell blood and hear cries of pain – from both wolf and Aesir. _Father?_ I call as loudly as I can, worried for both sides of the skirmish.

"Fenrir!" He's very close – he must have tracked me with magic.

_Father! I'm here! _I say and stumble towards him. I howl too, hoping it will draw him faster. Anything to end the fight.

He comes into my view, and I see his eyes go wide at the sight of me. _It's not bad, _I lie.

"Fen? Can you walk?"  
_Barely._

He comes and kneels by me, putting his hands around my neck and starts to mutter something. I know better than to break his concentration when he's doing magic, so I just close my eyes and don't ask what he's doing.

I open my eyes and we're back on the palace grounds. I look over at Father worriedly – teleporting that far, with me in tow, must have taken an extraordinary amount of magic. He looks pale and he doesn't stand up right away, but he seems to be all right, just exhausted. _Father …_

"Don't. Don't talk to me right now," Father snaps, and I look away, ashamed.

Sigyn is there before long – she goes about working to heal me. _Just let me die,_ I plead.

"Fen …"  
_My life is nothing without her._

She clearly has to try not to laugh, which infuriates me but I manage not to say anything. "Fen … there will be other she-wolves …" she whispers.

_No there won't, _I say bitterly.

"No there won't," Father snaps at the same time I speak. I have a feeling that our reasons for this statement are very different.

"Fen – I'm going to put you to sleep so this next part doesn't hurt," she says gently and gives me a potion to drink – four times what she normally gives and it still might not work as quickly.

Or so I think, but I'm fast asleep within a few minutes – I'm already so exhausted.

I awake back in my pen, deep in the night, some time later. Father and Uncle Thor are waiting for me. As soon as I wake, Father strikes me hard in the snout. I'm big, but he's got Asgardian strength and I have a nasty bite there already, so it hurts a lot. Tears come to my eyes – not just from the pain, but from being stunned. Father's never struck me before. Well, at least not when he wasn't possessed. He raises his hand again and Uncle Thor grabs him by the wrist. "Loki – the boy has enough pain as it is," he whispers. They're both bruised about the face – I wonder if they fought each other, and it just adds to the guilt making me sick to my stomach.

"Do you know what I went through when they told me you were gone?" Father demands. "Do you?"

_I'm sorry … I just …_  
"You didn't actually _mate_ with one of them, did you?" he asks angrily.

_No._

"Good," he says, and breathes a little easier.

_I got chewed on by the leader because I tried. There was one wolf, Lor … If you saw her, Father, you'd change your mind – she's the most beautiful …_

"That's disgusting, Fen," he says sharply, and won't look me in the eye. It should hurt … instead it just makes me angry.

_You're a hypocrite. I know about Sleipnir. At least I've always been a wolf. _

He strikes me again. And again. Then Thor catches his hand once more.

"Loki … stop," Thor pleads. "The boy doesn't know what he's saying – you've never told him the story or let anyone else tell him either." Father ignores him and looks me right in the eyes.

"If you get out again, I'll have you gelded," he threatens. It's occurred to me once or twice I could bite him in half – now is the first time it's ever been tempting.

"Loki! He's your son," Thor interjects.

"I won't lose you to some wild _animals_," he says flatly. "I will not."

_But … I can't help it … I go mad when I smell them …_

"I'll call the blacksmith and the stable master now, if you don't think you can control yourself," he says coldly.

"Loki …" Uncle Thor says threateningly. I know he won't allow it, he'll stand up to Father, and Father probably knows this, it's probably an empty threat, but even so I can't help the tears falling from my eyes … I hate him so much.

_You mean like you? You'll spill your seed in anything, and you're angry with me?! _

"You _will not _speak to me like that. I'm your father."  
_Maybe you should act like it, instead of treating me like a bad dog._

"If that's how you're going to act, it's how I'm going to have to treat you," he answers back, and my temper has had it.

_Why not just let Odin toss me to Midgard like you did Jorg, you damn coward? Or give me to him to do what he will, like you did Sleipnir?_

"Do _not _use them against me, Fenrir," he snaps, but I can tell it hurt too. Good.

_Is it because I'm your favorite, because I could love you in obvious ways and flatter your fragile ego?_

"Fen, stop it," Uncle Thor says sharply, and Father just looks stricken, and I know I've hit a nerve. Thor starts to step back and pulls Father with him – he knows what's coming.

_Because I was a cute little cub who minced and bowed for the court and embraced and kissed you and wanted to be a real boy so very badly? I have news for you, Father, that cub is gone._

I lunge for him – jaws gnashing, and Thor just pulls Father back in enough time to avoid my teeth closing on his face. Immediately, I regret losing my temper – I hate seeing that look on my father's face and knowing I put it here. "Fen …" Father whispers, terrified. I don't try to pursue them – I just rest my head back on my front legs and go back to sleep despite the shame and guilt gnawing at every nerve, waiting to die, since I'm sure that's what's coming.

* * *

**Author's Note Part II**

The cheesiness of the stuff between Fen and Lor is totally intentional … they are teenagers after all. Teenagers in heat, even.

I use Alpha and Omega even though those are based on Greek letters because I believe it falls under the translation convention. Like the characters are actually speaking Asgardian and the wolves have their own language but since I'm writing in English, that's how it's rendered.

So wolves mate for life … but there tend to be more males than females in a pack, so the unmated males will go and sneak off to other packs and try to mate with the young females who are barely old enough to mate and haven't been paired off yet. These are actually called Casanova wolves. I'm actually not sure if the alphas of the other pack have a problem with this but these are giant talking wolves so I'll just say they do, or at least that the Casanova wolves in the giant talking species are supposed to show them a certain amount of deference before they try to mate with their females.


	11. Chapter 10: Hunger (Fen)

Chapter 10

Hunger

Fenrir

To my surprise, they don't execute me – one of Sigyn's older classmates casts a shield spell that keeps me prisoner in my den. Other things can pass through it to me – the snow and rain for one – but it blocks the scent of the she-wolves and I can't walk past it. Every time I try I feel like I'm being slowly smothered, and I pull back and gasp for air. They toss me my daily allowance of meat through the shield … I refuse to touch it. "Are you still ill, Fen?" Uncle Thor asks, standing at the very edge of the shield, the second day I refuse to eat.

_No._

"Then why won't you eat, nephew?"

_I choose to die rather than continue living in the prison that is my wolfen body. _

"Fen …" he says gently, and reaches through the shield, still trusting me despite my tantrum. I think he's always been my only true ally – he's only ever tried to do what's best for me. I don't want to think about how much guilt he must have felt over letting me out when I came back chewed up like that.

_If I can't be a man or a wolf, I'll be neither. _

"Fen … you're being dramatic," he says, more harshly, but he strokes my snout.

_You don't know what it's like, Uncle. _

"Don't listen to your father … when you're bigger and stronger I'll let you out again," he whispers. "And then you can go find your princess."  
_By then she'll be gone – pledged to another. _

"There will be others."  
_No there won't be! _

He reaches up to scratch my ears – I thought maybe I outgrew that but I still like it. I take a little bit of the slab of beef they brought me an hour ago to please him.

"That's a good boy," he says. I don't let him see it bothers me – I tell myself Uncle Thor would have said the same to an Aesir child, and I've heard him say things like that to Aesir children, but it still stings. I wait for him to leave, and then I don't take another bite.

Uncle Thor comes whenever they feed me just to make sure I eat some of it – it doesn't matter. He can't watch me forever, and I eat slow enough that some other duty calls him away before I finish, and my daily rations were never enough as it was. I was already dangerously thin when this began from my time in the woods – I will win out, and it won't be long.

My hunger grows, and sometimes it threatens my resolve, but then I remember Lor, and that I'll never see her again, and that my father is so ashamed of me he will try to have me gelded if I try. And then I resist – I just stare at the half-gnawed sides of beef, resenting the parts Thor made me eat for prolonging my existence.

This goes on for some days before Father finally comes to see me – with Grandmother at his side. She holds his arm and keeps him back several feet so he can't come through the shield … so I've lost her trust as well. Fair enough, considering what I attempted to do. "Fen … please … Thor told me what you said … I promise I haven't given up, I still search for the spell that will undo the curse on you …"  
_Why? So I can be your thousand-year-old son?_

"So you can be a real boy, like you've always wanted," he says and tries to go to me, but Grandmother keeps her grip.

_I don't want that anymore._

"Since when?"  
_Since I saw _her.

"Oh for pity's sake … you're not still on about that damn she-wolf are you?" he asks, and that's when I know nothing's changed.

_I'm not a harlot like you. I love her._

"How long did you know this young lady, Fen?" Grandmother breaks in, which is good because Father and I are both about to lose our tempers again.

_I only had to see her once to know …_

"Fen, don't be ridiculous – you'll be a real man and then you'll find someone to love …" Father breaks back in.  
_You keep telling me that – you've always told me that. How many spells have you tried, how many books have you pored over?_

"I only need to find one that works."  
_And then will I be a son? Or a ward? What will you tell people?_

"You'll look as though you're my age," he says softly, conceding the point to me. "I don't know what we'll say. I was always …"  
_So desperate you didn't think?_

"Tending to the most immediate problem first. But yes … when you were a cub … I would have said you were my son." I'm entirely sure he's lying – Odin would never allow crooked branches to spring from the family tree. "No matter what anyone thought, I would have claimed you," he says, as though he's read my mind. I almost believe him.

_I have no doubt you will continue to search, Father – it is the success of the mission I doubt. And even were you to succeed, I do not think that I can live in the world of man. _

"Fen … please … my beloved son … don't give up on me," he pleads, and I see how much it's crushed him that I've lost my faith in him. I've never liked to see him sad. I almost lie, almost tell him I believe in him … But I don't.

_I've had enough of your talk. It's all empty words, Silvertongue. _I don't look directly at his face when I say it – I look off in the distance and try to pass it off as aloofness, but the effect is somewhat ruined when I can't stop a single tear from falling. And then I remember what he told me once – how tears and laughter belong only to man – and then there's more than one. Why did the curse leave me with this cruel reminder of the thing I will never be?

"Fen – is there nothing we can say to dissuade you from self-destruction?" Grandmother asks gently.

_No._

"Fen – think of your father, your uncle, myself …" she says, more sharply.  
_I'll remove myself as burden from your minds._

"You're just being dramatic," Father says spitefully, taking a different tact. He thinks he'll outwit me. "When you're hungry enough, you'll eat. You selfish boy – scaring us half to death."

_If you know I'll eat, why are you afraid?  
_"You think you're going to get your way – you think I'll let you out again. Maybe I should … Maybe I should let you get killed by wolves trying to slake your lust with some she-wolf."  
_It would be quicker than talking me to death. _

"Well you won't get your way – I will not yield. So you can starve if you wish," he bluffs. I know it's a bluff – and I'm sorry, for a moment, for the pain I'm putting him through. But then I remember … he only ever loved me as he wanted me to be, not as I was.

_Leave me, please. I need time to think, _I say, hoping to make them think I'll reconsider. _I do not wish to hurt anyone … only an escape from my pain and the pain I cause others by my existence._ To convince them of that, I take a few bites of the now-stale meat. I can do it for Thor, I can do it for them – it'll just take a little longer to starve a few bites at a time.

It doesn't take long for them to realize this – and again I endure all the pleading. Sigyn tries to persuade me as well – she's a gentle soul, and always has been. She stays strong and pretends she hasn't cried – she doesn't let any tears fall while she confronts me. "You're being selfish, Fen."  
_I am not. I seek the company of the only of my relatives who has ever had any hope of caring for me._

"Fen – it was just a mistake, we'll put it right," she says noncommittally, refusing to say whose mistake it was.

_My life was the mistake, and it ends soon._

"Fen – you were not a mistake. You were brought here for a reason …"  
_To fulfill my destiny as Odin-Bane? _Tempting though that is, I won't pursue that path.

"Is that what this is about? Fen … no one thinks you're going to …"  
_Then why am I in this cage?_

"Fen it's … we'll find a way out of this …" she says, and I see the effort she has to make to hold back her tears now. "Do … do you want to hear the tale of the swan girl?" she asks, doubtless remembering the day I heard my sentence.

_I thank you for remembering my preference, but I no longer find comfort in a tale that I don't believe will ever mirror my own life, _I say formally, as though we were discussing the weather. It's a trick she herself taught me – you can distance yourself from a lot of discussions with formality.

"We'll … we'll find an answer, Fen …" she promises, weakly. And then she leaves, probably because she doesn't want me to see her stony façade crack. And once again, I weep – but I do not take anything to eat.

I wonder, what would I do if Sif came to me the way the others have? If she told me that she didn't bring me home to watch me starve – I know I'd forget my resolve and tear into the meat, because as much as I care for her, I've always been a little bit scared of her. Maybe if she came for me, I wouldn't hate living so much. But she never comes – it would seem I've even lost her love as well. Fair enough.

The fifth day I finally find it in me to defy Thor, and I lay down by the meat and refuse to eat anything, though the smell of the fresh meat makes me drool with hunger. My bones are visible through the skin – I see my hip bones whenever I look back at myself. "Nephew please – you frighten us with this," he pleads, reaching through the force field again to stroke my ears. "I confess I had not taken this as seriously as I should have – is your despair so great you will destroy yourself?"  
_I must. _And then he gets furious – he swats my nose (with an open hand so it doesn't hurt as badly as Father's strike did, but it still hurts, and it surprises me enough I sit straight up) and then storms away a few steps, looking for something to kick and, finding nothing, just turns and storms back to me to yell at me and reach up to swat my nose again.

"What would you have me do? Selfish boy – think of all those you are making suffer! Would you have me stand aside and cheer you to your death?"

_No, uncle. That is not what I expect from my one unfailing ally, _I say and lay back down. I am very weak.

"How can you say that? Do you know what your Father does, how he hunts for …"  
_A way to fix me. You always loved me just as I was. _He can't deny that. He only hesitates a moment and then steps through the field and kneels by me.

"Fen – I will talk to your father. Maybe I can persuade him yet – that he cannot hold onto you forever," he says. "But I won't do it unless you eat," he says harshly – and I look up and take a big bite of the meat. I don't tell him that if he succeeds, my fate is to die in battle against Alpha rather than surrender Lor to another – I know that would change his mind. He doesn't come back the next day – probably because he is trying to hard to persuade Father.

The sixth night of my hunger strike, Tyr finally comes back – I've missed him, and when I first catch his scent I get to my feet and look for him eagerly … and then I catch anger and I hesitate. He enters the pen confidently, carrying a huge pike, and comes closer until he is standing just in front of the shield. The meat I refused to eat earlier in the day is still just feet away from me. "Will you eat, Prince?" he asks, and he sneers the last word, in a way I've never known from him.

_I cannot. _

"You will. Your father will make my life a living Niffelheim until you do."  
_I am sorry for troubling you. I will be dead soon, and then he will stop._

"Selfish brat. What's wrong with you?"  
_It has been proven multiple times I am a terrible wolf … if I can be neither man nor wolf, I will be neither._

"Two of my men were killed fighting the wolves you were near – I won't let you render their sacrifice worthless with your adolescent dramatics."  
_I did not ask them to come to me – be angry with my father and grandfather for their orders. Fool – you think I'm like one of your little brats mewling about being told to go to bed?! I am a prisoner in my own body and in this pen, and I seek my release._

"I may give that to you if you keep being stubborn," he answers.

_Do it. I beg of you. All though I don't know how you think Father will treat you then. _I really don't want him to do it … I don't know what Father will do him then. And even with the way he's acting, I feel he's earned better.

"Eat what you've been given, you ungrateful bastard," he snaps, and begins to prod me with the pike, sharply enough to rip through fur. "You should have been drowned when you were born – or eaten. I hear beasts do that, I'm surprised your mother didn't take one look at you and gobble you up." My sympathy for him disappears, and I get an idea – admittedly, a wicked idea – and start to back up. He steps closer and closer – my wicked plan is shaping up nicely. "You sit here and whine like a little quim," he curses me while he stabs, and I step back. "Because we keep you caged, because you're too stupid not to go picking fights with a wolf even bigger than you." Stab, step back. "We ought to do like your father says – chain you down and geld you." Stab, step back. "Then you could be a good little pet for your father."

_Please, why are you suddenly so cruel to me? I thought we were friends,_ I whimper, feigning innocence, as he steps through the barrier. My stomach growls and I start to drool as the smell of him grows stronger – I hope he's so frenzied he doesn't notice.

"I had to tell their families what happened … that they died chasing a _pet_." Stab, step back. I reach the back of my den, and can't back up any further. That's just as well – he steps even closer. "After your father had me whipped – as though I'm in any position to resist your uncle. I should have the freedom to do whatever I whim that they have – instead I get to guard Loki's favorite bastard. Believe you me, Lokison, if my father was as generous as yours …" A tiny bit of my sympathy returns with the solution to the mystery of why he smells so much like Uncle Thor, but not enough to resist the line he offers me next. "You stubborn, spoiled brat – you will eat something!"

_As you wish. _

He was so caught off guard by my lunge he doesn't have time to use the pike in a more serious capacity – my jaws clamp shut on his left arm, and tear flesh from his right. He screams in pain as my teeth pierce all the way through the flesh of his forearm, and a quick sling of my head snaps the bone clean off. He falls several feet away, then sits up to look at me, clutching the blood-spraying stump and staring at me in utter horror. I drop his hand at my feet and carefully, delicately peel the flesh away from bone with my teeth and swallow it down, trying to ignore the unpleasantness of the chewy tendons, all while looking him in the eye. Man flesh is sweet and tender, if a little too fatty for my taste. He starts to back up, not even getting to his feet. I laugh as I send him fleeing – I lick my lips and follow at my own pace, following him close behind, toying with him the way cats do. I won't kill him … I'll just take a leg too.

Or they'll finally kill me first, which is what I hoped for – as my jaw clamps down on his right leg just as he reaches the barrier, I'm struck with dozens of arrows from the terrified guards on the fence. I let him go and stumble away, still laughing, heedless to the pain. My imprisonment is ended!

I still have some hours left for this world – I stumble to the back of my den and wait. Eventually elation subsides and I'm in agony – I howl as loud as I can, hoping one of the guards will become frightened and finish me off. No such luck. I ignore all the commotion outside, only feebly attempting to lick my wounds and chew out some of the arrows.

Sigyn comes and works frantically, but not in the way she usually does – usually she does most of her work with her hands and only leaves a little bit to spell casting. It must be very serious indeed. She gives me a large bowl of something to drink – it stings my throat and mouth but starts to dull the pain a few minutes after hitting my stomach. It makes my head and limbs heavy, but that seems a small price to pay for an ease to my pain. "Try to sleep Fen – it will all be over soon," Sigyn tells me softly, her tears falling unrestrained onto my fur.

_I am sorry for the trouble I have caused – you can leave me now, _I manage to answer, which only makes her sob harder and take a moment from what she is doing – whatever complicated incantations she is speaking must not be time sensitive – to wrap her arms around my neck, heedless of the blood that soaks her dress. I want to ask for Father and Uncle Thor and Grandmother but decide not to trouble them, here at the end.

And then, after a few more minutes, I feel it. My soul, outside my body. I feel as though I'm floating upwards and expanding – I look down on myself, a huddled, bleeding mess. My surroundings fade into a shadowy, snowy plain – cold but not bitterly so. I'm certainly glad to leave that life nonsense behind.

I feel a hand stroking the back of my head. "What in all the nine realms makes you think you're leaving it behind? I still have plans for you, little brother." The voice is cold and deep – I look up in fear, knowing who it belongs to. "Your wounds are not fatal," she tells me.

_But … I am here …_ I say confused. I'm clearly in the realm of the dead, faced by my older … by my younger … by my sister.

"You can thank your friend Sigyn for that – she tempered Odin's wrath. You get a second chance, Fenrir," she says mysteriously with a little, sinister smile on her face.

_But I don't want a second chance … I want to stay with you! Please, sister, have mercy on me! _I fall on my feet before her, groveling.  
"Oh stop being so dramatic Fen – not everyone gets to live twice," she says and pats me on the head.

I feel like I'm getting sucked through a tube, and forced into a very tiny, tiny body. Tinier than any body I've had since I was a baby.

And then, I forget everything.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Yes I know harlot is gendered – think of it as an extra layer of insult.

So Tyr was suddenly way more violent with Fen … what exactly was the reason for that? Was it just what he said so far, or is there even more? You'll find out.


	12. Chapter 11: Isolation (Coulson)

Chapter 11

Isolation

Coulson

She came into the bathroom so quietly I didn't even hear her – what's the saying that silence is golden unless there's a toddler around? Anyway – I ended up having the awkward situation of pulling back the shower curtain to see my two-and-a-half-year-old niece, sitting on the floor playing with her rubber ducky and her toy dolphin that Mom kept in the bucket next to the tub when she visited. And of course she looked up when I pulled the curtain back. She stared up at me without saying a word. I quickly wrapped my towel around my waist, but she only looked more nonplussed. "Uh … do you want to go outside, for a little bit, Barbie?" I asked. My cheeks were bright red and I was desperately hoping I wouldn't have to explain anything. We called her Barbie then – because it was the more natural shortening of her name and she just looked like a little doll – but that must have been around the time we were changing it to Bobbi – she couldn't say her R's, so when she referred to herself it sounded like Bobbi, and that's what stuck.

"What those?" she asked, pointing to my chest. I was so relieved – my scars were almost always covered by my clothes so she never saw them, and that seemed to concern her much more than anything else. Thank God.

"They're just scars, sweetheart. When I was younger someone hurt me – sometimes when you're hurt it doesn't heal all the way, so you have a mark where you got hurt."  
"Bad guy hurt you?" she asked, and she looked worried.

"He's in jail where he can't hurt anyone else," I said quickly, because jail was easier to explain than death row, and she nodded but still looked a little worried as she went back to whatever was happening with the dolphin and the ducky.

* * *

I lay in the post-op cot a long time, not wanting to look, just feeling the dull pain of it. I was more stoic than John – he carried on and on, cradling his arm and moaning.

S.H.I.E.L.D. policy was to remove any scars, tattoos, or other identifying marks from agents doing field work. That was their policy despite dental records and well into the advent of DNA identification – they kept it up, in desperate hope they could keep dead agents from being identified by hostile governments, until they finally gave it up about four years ago. Which is why the scar from Loki is the only one I have on my body, despite the fact I've been shot and stabbed multiple times.

This was the first time I ever had it done, and the most traumatic. I held my right hand over my left, knowing Ronnie Schuller's tooth marks were gone. I was a little sad to lose that set of scars – they made a great story to tell when people asked about them. But it's not like I had any important memories attached to being bitten by that little brat – he was just a little brat that I was very grateful for never having to see again.

The ones I didn't want to see gone were the seven marks that had so concerned Bobbi when she saw me getting out of the shower.

A hole on the right side of my chest, one just above my navel, one in my upper left arm, one on the lower left side of my stomach. Two long, surgical gashes on either side of my chest and one across my whole stomach, just above my navel.

"I love you Philly," Dad said as he laid on top of me. He and all the other adults were crying as much as I was – we were all scared. The first shot rang out, and everyone screamed, except Dad. "I figure we're gonna go see Jesus real soon, Philly …" The second shot rang out. "We won't be sad when we get to Heaven, we won't hurt anymore …" the third shot. "We won't be scared anymore." His body covered mine entirely, with only my face sticking out around his shoulder. His tears fell directly on my cheek.

"You, on your knees," Bill Horn ordered. He had always creeped me out – he was this stringy heroin addict that you never wanted to be alone with, and he had these evil eyes. We knew he'd robbed a couple of churches but the pastors didn't want to press charges about it, since they saw him as someone in need – I wonder how much they regretted that after that day. But they couldn't have known. "On your knees!" he repeated, louder that time. Instead, Dad shifted himself so he was on top of me entirely, with my face under his collarbone. It was hard to breathe, but I trusted him.

"You're gonna shoot me anyway," he said defiantly. So Bill shot him where he lay – I felt the breath go out of Dad's chest and was so shocked I couldn't cry out or anything.

The fifth shot. The sixth shot. By then I was lying in a pool of dad's blood, struggling to breathe and with no tears left to cry.

He tried to roll Dad off me, but he was so stringy and skeletal from years of heroin abuse he couldn't lift him or even roll him – Dad had always been a big guy, tall and broad-shouldered, and I gripped his shirt like my life depended on it, mostly because it did.

So he emptied the gun into Dad's back. Four of them made it into me.

One of them in my chest, one in my upper left arm, two in my stomach. They had to cut me open to staunch the bleeding in my lungs and my intestines at the hospital.

I trace the places and even though I only feel smooth skin there now, I know the exact location of each entry wound, each incision. I do that several times, reassuring myself I'll never forget. How could I ever forget the thing that haunts me even now, four years after they put a needle in his arm? I wanted to go and be the witness, but Mom wouldn't let me – she said I was too young. She was probably right, but I wanted to look in those evil eyes and watch him stop breathing. His last words were an apology – he found Jesus in prison, or said he did anyway. When they gave him time for last words, he told his mother he was sorry for making her so much trouble (she became a pariah after that day – wasn't right, but it was a small town) and asked the families for their forgiveness – and told Mom he hoped I was doing well, told her to thank me for turning him in so he could go to prison and save his soul. He told them all he hoped his death gave them closure, that he was _glad _that he was getting at least a little payback for what he did in the bank that day. Big talk from someone who used every possible appeal – but maybe that was his lawyers' idea. I had to hear that from the official court record – Mom would never tell me anything about it, and I wasn't about to walk up to Mr. and Mrs. Walter's grandson, Jenna Dunn's mother, Mr. Felton's widow, or Dana Cole's husband and ask them. I've tried so often to picture how my mother must have reacted when he said my name …

I didn't need the scars to remember – just thinking of Jenna, who was sixteen but seemed so old when I was eight, of Mr. Felton who was my first grade teacher, of Mrs. Walter who made caramel apples every Halloween and gave them out while Mr. Walter tried adorably hard to scare the kids with the cheesy homemade costumes his granddaughter made for him, of Dana, who gave me a lollipop every time I went in the bank with Dad and was only about three months away from being a mom, and of Dad …

It's not like the scars were the worst thing that happened to me that day. And I remembered why I was doing this.

I wasn't going after the Bill Horns, no … I was going after the people that killed many, many more people, that tore apart that many families on a slow day. With any luck, I was going to save so many lives and families, and then go home to my beautiful wife and eventually to our children who would hopefully look like her, and sleep soundly knowing I was a righteous agent of justice.

I was so young.

* * *

The safe house we're staying in is this tiny, gray complex on an island just off the coast of California – not one I've been in before. There's only five rooms – a kitchen, and four bedrooms with attached bathrooms. Fitz and Simmons set up a makeshift lab in one of the rooms – all though there's not much left to analyze. Simmons is trying to get a measure on the wolf now based on a digital recreation generated from the photographs of Fabron's arm – if she finds out that there's a third wolf, I'm going to lose it. Actually, I'll also lose it if she says the wolf got even bigger. This is just not a case that makes me happy. Not that brutal murders ever make me happy … It's just, usually I can do my job, and that does.

Bobbi calls about an hour after we get there – they put her through on a secure line. She and Clint are both fine – I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding. "He's going to go to work with me tomorrow," she says.

"Bobbi – why are you going to work tomorrow?" I ask, severely put out.

"My leave is only for seven months, and I want to spend as much of it with Francis as possible so if I want to get any of my project done it has to be now."  
"Francis? You have a name?" I ask. I know it's Clint's middle name … but please God, let it be a girl.

"Yeah we … we don't know the gender yet so we were talking about names for either one and we decided Francis will work well for either and well … I can't stop thinking about him or her as Francis now," she answers. Please God, let it be a girl.

"That's beautiful," I say, wishing this were a video call. As soon as this is over, I'm going over there to annoy her by fussing over her. And trying to talk her into other boy name options.

I hang up, and Simmons sticks her head in to tell me her findings. This wolf is bigger than her first measurement, but smaller than the one that attacked Audrey's neighbors. Damn it.

I turn in every bit of paperwork that they could request from me – I don't tend to let it build up, so there wasn't much of it to do, and now I've just got a long wait. I go to bed early, hoping there will be news in the morning.

* * *

_Sunlight filters in through the bedroom window of that little apartment in DC, glinting off the surface of hundreds of plastic eyes. I turn to Whitney and I consider kissing her awake, but know she'll be annoyed with me getting her up so early and decide against it. _

_I don't have anywhere to be today – so I lay there a while longer, but then get up. I never was good at sleeping in._

_I step into the bathroom and shut the door behind me so the light won't bother her, and when I flick on the light, a wolfen face looks back at me from the mirror._

I start awake, instantly remembering I'm in the safe house. Damn this case.

* * *

The next day, there's no word from the rest of the team. I play _Call of Duty_ for a few hours – playing in the middle of the weekday is a mixed blessing. There are fewer twelve-year-olds calling me a faggot, but also fewer twelve-year-olds I can completely and utterly curb stomp after they call me a faggot. Bobbi calls me when she gets home from work and complains about Clint hovering over her. I tell her it's to be expected and that I'm glad for it, which annoys her, but she admits I'm probably right. We haven't had the opportunity in a while, and I've never been that much of a talker, so I just listen to her for a while. Clint wants a dog but she doesn't think they can have one in the apartment they're in, but they're thinking about moving anyway. She's kind of relieved they don't know the gender yet, so she can buy toys for both genders without Clint complaining about it. Her upstairs neighbor is the bane of her existence – he plays loud music and runs around the apartment all night long. Her axolotls are apparently doing well – it took a while to get their water cool enough because they live in a cold lake in the wild, I guess, but their water is nice and cool now and so they're thriving.

"So you can be mean and cut their ovaries out," I tease.

"I don't do it to be mean," she says defensively, and I know I've hit a nerve. Usually she can take a joke with the best of them.

"I'm sorry – I know you don't. I know you care about the little creatures."

I remember when she first explained how she used the little salamanders in research – at that time, it was their limb and organ regeneration she was interested in, and she worked with a geneticist in New York – Mom had a fit. She said she understood it, why it was important, but she didn't want to hear about it because it was so cruel. We laughed about it later but … I could tell, when it happened, that Bobbi was upset, and I made it worse by arguing with Mom about it, pointing out a lot of the livestock that died for food were killed in a pretty brutal manner while her salamanders went to sleep and never woke up, which just made her mad and we got on some tangent and somehow ended up fighting about how often I went to Mass while Bobbi sat there at the table with the boyfriend she had at the time, looking like she wanted to kill both of us. We never saw that guy again – which is good because I didn't like him.

"I'm surprised they like the cold – I don't think of the cold when I think of Mexico," I say, changing the subject.

"The lakes they live in are fed by snow melt from the mountains, so the water temp is rather cool. It's also rather salty – that kind of limits how creative our engineering can be with the racks since salt water is murderous on electronics."

"When we get a slow day, I should send Fitz to look at it."

"I'm sure the spending oversight committee would love that," she says with a chuckle.

"Why wouldn't they? He gets paid the same amount whether he's working or not … he might as well spend his time helping other scientists."  
"That's a good point … Clint, honey, what are you doing?" There's a little bit of silence while she holds the phone away, listening to his answer. "I've got to go – Clint's threatening to cook dinner."  
"Threatening?" I ask. I'm really annoyed he doesn't ever cook – especially since she's the one working full time (not to mention carrying his baby) while he has some kind of hurry-up wait position at the moment.

"Every time he tries to cook something besides a stir fry, it turns out badly. And he can't do stir fry right now because the smell of cooking meat makes me violently sick."

"Let him learn," I say. He's a big boy.

"You didn't have to eat his bean stew."

"How do you screw up bean stew?"  
"Let's just say – our crockpot is not big enough and there was juice everywhere, the onions were caramelized, and if you leave the lemon juice in too long, it becomes very bitter. Don't worry, he does all the other chores – I just don't want the baby to starve and we can't afford to go out every day." Sensible enough.

"Have a good night – call me again when you get home from work tomorrow," I say.

"I will. Don't get too bored in isolation."

After I hang up, I go back to playing COD. By now there are plenty of twelve-year-olds online – curb stomping ensues.

* * *

_Sun streams in through my bedroom window. I hop out of bed, annoyed that I overslept and Mom let me. I'm distinctly worried I did not do my biology assignment, something about salamanders, and then remember I'm in physics this year. Then I worry I didn't do my physics homework, something about electricity and saltwater – but I always do my homework. "Bobbi!" I call, knowing she'll be fast asleep if Mom or I haven't woken her, and she can't be late one more time or Mrs. Freeman's going to be very angry. There's no answer. "Bobbi! Get your butt up!"_

"_It's Saturday!" she whines back. _

_Of course it's Saturday – that was stupid. Weirdly, Ben slept through the whole thing, but I'm glad – he hates being woken up early. _

_I step into Bobbi's room to apologize for waking her, but she's already back fast asleep. I remember when Emily was pregnant with her, how nervous I was when Emily asked me to touch her belly and feel Bobbi kicking – I jerked my hand back in surprise when she did. I almost wish she could have stayed in there, safe, forever. I lean down and kiss her forehead, which makes her groan and roll over, apparently having just been pretending to be asleep._

"_You stinker, thinking you could fool me," I tease._

"_It's Saturday you weirdo!" she objects loudly and puts the pillow over her head. _

"_Okay, okay, I'll let you sleep," I concede. "I'm sorry I woke you up." She makes some kind of unintelligible grumble in response._

_I turn to go back to my room and come to face to face with a wolf taller than I am, with pale blue human eyes._

Not. Again.

I put my hand over my face and groan. I usually don't even remember my dreams. I haven't had a recurring dream like this since I was a kid. I don't even have nightmares about Loki – I don't know why this case is messing me up like it is.

I think about everything that's happened in the past couple of years, and the fact this case has meant my family is in danger and I've had to think about Whitney for the first time in years … maybe it's a straw that broke the camel's back type situation.

Which might be exactly what the perpetrator wants – there has to be a reason it put me in a situation where I'd find out Audrey's seeing someone else and have to see my ex-wife again. Which of course raises the question of how they knew all this. Guess I'll ask them when we find them – which a quick glance at my phone says that we're not any closer to that yet.

Slowly, I fall back asleep, just hoping I don't come face to face with a wolf in my next dream, and it'll fade by the time I wake like most of the dreams I've ever had.

* * *

There's a message on the in-house intercom – letting me know that Dr. Costa is here to see me. I guess my thumbs get a break from COD – not that that increases my enthusiasm much.

We sit on the couch and one of the chairs in Fitz and Simmons' lab (didn't seem appropriate to hole up in one of the bedrooms) with the door closed and exchange niceties and then sit there in obstinate silence – like we always do.

"So … I imagine this must be a stressful case," Dr. Costa says. She's a woman about my age with graying black hair, who always looks painfully casual next to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents she counsels – today's questionable outfit choice is a cat sweater with matching cat earrings and blue jeans. She told me once I could call her Anna if I liked, but I'm not comfortable with that, so I still call her Dr. Costa.

"It is," I say stiffly, without elaborating.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she asks, peering over her pink glasses, clearly hoping I'll say yes for once. I almost say no … but then I think about the fact I've dreamed about the wolf twice.

"I've been having dreams about it," I say.

"Is that unusual?" she asks.

"Very – I usually don't dream. Or don't remember them anyway – I know everyone dreams most nights."

"What do you see – in these dreams?"

"I'm just … I wake up somewhere, somewhere important to me in the past, and when I step into the next room, the wolf is there. And it startles me so much I wake up. Not much to it."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do these make you feel anxious?" I almost don't answer, or answer sarcastically – of course it make me anxious. Instead I decide to be honest.  
"They make me feel bad we haven't stopped this thing yet. It makes me wonder why … exactly this one has messed me up so bad. And … there's something weird about the wolf."  
"Oh?"

"I didn't catch it in the first dream … but its eyes are human. In fact they're … they're _his _eyes. Loki's eyes."

"That sounds disturbing."  
"Well it's … it's a huge wolf, so the eyes are the least of my worries." But that's a lie – the first dream, I went right back to sleep. The second one … I laid awake for hours, thinking about that creepy thing. "Is there a way to … is there a way to make dreams lucid, so I could get a good look at it without waking up right away?"  
"It takes years of practice to do effectively … but you could at least try the reality checking method."  
"What's that?" I ask, already thinking it sounds like nonsense.

"When you see three common everyday objects, ask yourself, 'Am I dreaming?' Do it every time you see one of those, and eventually you'll train your mind to ask that, even in sleep, which can allow you to be aware of the dream. But it does take a while – it may not help the immediate situation."  
"I'll try it though. What … what does that mean, it having those eyes?"  
"It could be your subconscious recognizing the … for lack of a better word, the human intelligence of it, or that you suspect a humanoid is really behind it … or, given the humanoid whose eyes it resembles, it could just be a reminder of that fear." Thanks Dr. Obvious – I never could have guessed that.

"Thanks. I'll try the thing," I say, settling on curtains, bedposts, and doors, since those were all things I saw in both dreams.

We sit there in almost total silence the rest of the hour.

The rest of the day, I ask myself if I'm dreaming every time I see curtains (not very often in this place), a bedpost (exclusively mine) or a door (now those we have a lot of in this dreary, gray complex). And I never stop feeling stupid doing it.

* * *

Three more days creep by like molasses in winter – and I still have the dreams every night, and the object thing has yet to work. I still keep it up even though I feel stupider as the days go on – I don't think it's working.

The only good news is there's no new bodies but that almost makes it worse – knowing it'll happen eventually.

I check in on Fitz and Simmons, like I do every day, but they don't have anything new to work with and so I'm not expecting anything. I go to the room they've set up as their lab and hear them talking as I start to open the door – _Am I dreaming? No –_ I hesitate and listen in, curious about what they're so angry about.

"You've got to tell him Jemma – he'd want to know, and for all we know it could … it could be the key to this case … I don't know about you but I don't want to deal with another body." She's the one that deals with the blood and guts, so that seems like an unfair statement.  
"You heard what May said … besides what if … what it's something horrible?"

"Tell me what?" I pull open the door and ask, not able to listen anymore. They both jump about a foot – they should have locked the door.

"Sir … it … everything's fine," Simmons starts, trying to force a smile and being bad at it. She'd be a terrible field agent.  
"We've got something to show you," Fitz says gravely. "Don't we Jemma?"  
"I … I suppose we do," she says slowly, defeated. "You … might want to sit down." I remain standing, with my arms folded. She waits a moment, then sighs, and goes to the computer and does a lot of clicking, then turns the screen around so I can see it.

I'm watching security footage from the bus. "This is from the day that we dealt with Lorelei … something … something happened we didn't want to tell you about …"

Very much to my surprise, I see myself standing just a few feet away from Lorelei. I don't remember this, at all. I remember turning down the hallway and being a little disoriented after – but I don't remember this moment. "But I … I never saw her," I insist. Simmons bites her lip, Fitz looks at the floor, and I can only watch.

"Agent Coulson – my dear friend," I hear her say on the tape, and she puts a hand on my shoulder just in case.

It's like watching someone else in my body – it's deeply unsettling. Whoever it is turns to her and smirks, then says something in a language I've never heard, then jerks his arm away from her and goes on his way, knowing he can do nothing alone. She looks on in shock. "_You_?" she asks incredulously. The person inside me doesn't answer that – only keeps walking away.

"What … what language was that?" I ask with a shudder. It must have to do with the thing in the tank.  
"I … I don't know, sir … we've sent the audio off to a couple of linguists and the only thing they can agree on is it's nothing from Earth."

"Did you ask Randolph?" I ask. I have a sinking feeling he could translate.

"Yes …" she says hesitantly. "After you left to speak to your ex-wife, I called him back and played the tape for him. He was unnerved too, but he didn't know any explanation for it. It … didn't reveal much. Apparently you said … The language you spoke was probably Asgardian, but that was hard for him to pin down because apparently … it's very technical but the Asgardians and aliens from several other planets have a device implanted at a young age that allows them to speak and understand any language they encounter, and he couldn't be sure … but he did say you told her … you told her, 'You never could control me, Lorelei you hateful bitch.' " I'm still stuck on the fact that I spoke Asgardian, the rest doesn't sink in. Not even amusement at the fact I've never heard Simmons use the word "bitch" before.

But once it does … I knew her. Or the thing in the tank did. And somehow … it took over.

I stumble out of the room so Fitz and Simmons won't see me start to panic at the thought that there's something alien inside me that can actually _speak_.

I lean against the wall in the hallway, my heart hammering against my chest. I feel so sick I'm sure I'll vomit … I take rapid but shallow breaths as everything I usually use to calm myself fails horribly.

What have they done to me?!

I try to focus on the puzzle to have something to solve … What kind of alien would speak Asgardian, that wasn't Aesir, if Randolph was right about the language? What do the Vanir he mentioned look like? Sif didn't mention them on her list of blue aliens. Maybe she was just so used to them she didn't think about them being blue. That's probably stupid. What did she mention … Kree, Jotuns …

Jotuns I think are frost giants. There's a mythological connection there … it would make sense for them to speak Asgardian, and know who Lorelei was, right? If that was the language I was speaking. But wouldn't it be bigger … being a giant and all?

Maybe it was a young one.

Not a helpful thought.

Maybe it was a Kree that … just happened to speak Asgardian. Sif knew about them, so they must have some kind of diplomatic relationship with Asgard.

Also not helpful … The more intelligence and skill this thing can display from within my own skull, the creepier I feel.

Maybe I'm over-thinking it. Maybe this device is a nanochip and I just happened to accidentally get it along with the serum – not that that explains why I don't remember talking to her, or acting like I knew her … or her knowing me …

I'm almost glad Randolph didn't have an explanation. If he'd something like … like maybe I was half-Asgardian …

Except Mom was fifty when she had me. Not only can I not see her cheating on Dad, I cannot see some philandering Asgardian taking her when he could have some twenty-something. When she was that age, sure – she was gorgeous, when she was younger. And I guess she aged pretty well, not that I'm the one to judge that …

But she wouldn't have cheated on Dad. And I look more like him than her anyway.

Maybe he was completely wrong about the language and it was just a Kree speaking Kree. Yeah, let's go with that.

On second thought, being half-Asgardian would be less creepy, as long as I don't think about it too hard, because it would mean that was still me on the tape. But it's not like I'd have … I don't know, ancestral memory, of Lorelei specifically. Or that I'd forget speaking. Or … maybe I would …

I step back into the room. Simmons and Fitz both look at me worriedly, but politely refrain from commenting. I am very thankful for British stiff upper lip.

"Simmons … can you compare my DNA against the Asgardian samples?" I ask, even though that's unthinkable.

"I already have, it's not a match," she answers. I should be relieved – but my skin crawls again, wondering what's in me. "And there's nothing for anything else … I'm very sorry sir, I don't know what else I can do," she says, clearly at wit's end. I'm sorry she's in this mess too.  
"It's um … it's … thank you for showing me. I needed to see it."

I stumble out of the room again, find my way to my own room, and dive into a world of combat where I can focus on anything and everything but what I just saw.

This time I'm the one getting curb-stomped – my hands shake on the controller.

I decide the only way around it is to sleep – I crawl into my little bed and close my eyes, working hard to not think about anything in particular until sleep comes.

* * *

_Sunlight filters in through Audrey's bedroom window, softly caressing her bare shoulders. It comes in past the curtains – _Am I dreaming? …

Yes. …

_I give her a kiss on the cheek, knowing she'll sleep through it and that this is the only time I'll ever have to kiss her again. _

_Then I get out of bed and pick up my sidearm from my clothes folded in the chair next to the bed. All though what am I going to do – shoot dream bullets at it?_

_Hey, it's a dream, can I have the Thorbuster again?_

_It materializes in my hands – very nice. _

_Cautiously, I open the bedroom door into the living room._

_The wolf is sitting there, waiting for me. It's not a particularly scary wolf – enormous size and freaky eyes notwithstanding. It's not in a menacing pose or anything … it's lying on the floor, its tail slowly wagging, looking up at me with this huge weapon like I'm nothing. _

"_Who are you?" I ask, feeling more than a little stupid asking a dream wolf its name. Why does it even matter? This is all in my mind, it's not like I'm going to get relevant answers._

I am Fenrir Lokison, of Asgard, _it says as it stands up, or tries to. Its head hits the ceiling and so it ducks down. Or … I hear a voice say that in my head. This deep, velvety voice – a voice that sounds an awful lot like Loki's voice._

"_What are you doing here?"  
_

I do not know, Phillip Coulson.

_How do you know my name? What did I ever do to you? _

I do not know. I do not know anything anymore, _it answers, and it actually sounds terrified. _The last thing I recall is being on Asgard, I remember … My memories of those last days are not pleasant. I was there, and then I was seeing you look at me through a window … a younger you …

_Is it normal for dreams to remember themselves? My skin is crawling here. _

And then I watched an even younger you playing with a young relative … and then you were older, but younger than now, lying on the ground outside in a bedroll … and then the youngest of all, only a child, slamming a door in my face … and now here. I cannot give you answers that I do not know any better than you.

"_Why are you killing people here on Earth?" I demand, not buying it. _

Earth? Do you mean Midgard? Is that what Midgardians call their home world?

_He seems eager to learn, almost like a puppy. Suddenly he strikes me as young, the alien giant wolf equivalent of a teenager. "Yes. You've been killing people here."  
_

I haven't! _it protests, and sounds genuinely hurt. _

_This is stupid, this is just in my head anyway._

_But maybe I'm seeing something subconsciously I haven't let myself in on yet – I press on._

"_Then someone's doing a really pretty impressive frame-up job. All I know is I have people getting eaten by a giant wolf who usually leaves behind a left arm and a right leg as a prize – any idea why?" It hangs its head even lower than it already had to because of the ceiling – it looks exactly like a dog that knows its been naughty. _

_He. It's a he. A smart as any human. Killer or no, it deserves the right words._

Because I ate Tyr's left hand, and tried to bite off his right leg, _he says sheepishly._

"_Uh huh. And I should believe you didn't eat the others because … Why, exactly? Don't tell me you wouldn't want revenge on me for what I did to your father."_

Why, what did you do to Father? _he asks suspiciously._

"_Tell me what you did to the people here, and I'll tell you what I did," I answer coyly._

That can't have been me. As I said, the last thing I remember is …

"Sir, please wake up."

I sit up, absolutely furious with Simmons and her timing. Oh well … I did it before, I can do it again when I go back to sleep tonight. And it's not like it was real anyways – just a dream.

"Sir, please … I'm going to ask security to …"  
"I'm up!" I call. "What is it?" I ask, none too pleasantly, as I open the door. I don't care that I'm not entirely decent – she stares at the scars on my chest, but doesn't comment. There are tears in her eyes – this is so not good.  
"It's headquarters – they wanted to let you know … there's been an incident at USC …"  
"An incident … what kind of incident?" I ask anxiously, already stepping back to find my shirt and jacket and put them on.

"We don't … no one knows, sir. There's some kind of … barrier. No one can get past it. There's several people inside it … your niece and her husband are two of them." My heart almost stops. "They're bringing in experts – they've got rescue operations there trying to get in. They said your orders are to stay here …"  
I hiss curses at that under my breath as I slide the shirt over my head.

"I'm going anyway," I say out loud. Let them just try and stop me.

"I know sir – that's why I told them I'd misled you to believe the incident was with your brother and you'd headed that way after my first attempt to wake you," she says. I smile as I throw the jacket on – maybe she'd be okay in the field after all.

I throw my shoes on and make sure my gun is loaded, then head for the boat that I know they keep here in case an evacuation is needed. I wonder how fast I can get to LA from here – and I hope it's quick enough.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I've heard similar stories of small children walking in on an opposite sex family member naked – presumably seeing a member of the opposite sex naked for the first time – and being more concerned about the lack of eye glasses or a tattoo or the like than any of the anatomical differences you'd expect them to notice first. Little kids, huh?

I know Pennsylvania is not exactly Texas (they've only executed three people since 1976) but … this guy killed a pregnant woman, three senior citizens including an older dad, a sixteen-year-old girl, and a first grade teacher, and tried real hard to kill a little boy while robbing a bank to get more money to go buy more smack. That's the kind of thing that gets the death penalty even in states not otherwise inclined to it. Just pretend that it's actually four and one of them was Horn.

There actually was excitement over axolotl eggs a few years ago because they found that exposing cells to an extract from unfertilized eggs would actually turn tumor suppressors back on to help said cells fight off cancer. However it looks like there was a flurry of citations in 2011 but nothing since then, which makes me think unfortunately that didn't go anywhere. Also, google "pet axolotls", because they are adorable and will brighten your day.

I have heard that tip for lucid dreaming before – I have no idea if it works, and if it does, it's not that quickly. But … insert handwavey explanation here.


	13. Cha 12: In the Lair of the Beast (Bobbi)

Chapter 12

In the Lair of the Beast

Bobbi

I didn't quite understand that the trip was a goodbye – that Philly would be gone in a few months.

I mean I knew that – Grandma and Phillip had both explained that he had to go to DC to start S.H.I.E.L.D. training and we wouldn't see him very often, even though D.C. isn't that far away, because he'd be so busy and the government probably didn't want him to be at home with us all the time. But it hadn't sunk in – Phillip was constant. He was my best and oldest friend – even before I went to live with them permanently, Benny and I had stayed with them a lot, while Mommy was sick. Grandma would drive down to get us and then Daddy would drive Mommy to Emory. It was like that as long as I could remember – Grandma says Mommy got sick right after Benny was born, and he was born when I was two. Then when Daddy left us after Mommy's funeral, it was a newly licensed to drive Phillip who drove to Georgia to pick us up for the last time while Grandma worked – I sat in my room I knew I'd never see again and sobbed for half an hour. Phillip just put his hand over my shoulder and occasionally wiped my nose and eyes with a series of tissues, until I was ready to go. Phillip didn't get embarrassed to hold my hand or put me on his shoulders – he didn't yell like Daddy did or cry like Mommy did or scold like Grandma did. He just listened.

For two years, he'd put me back to sleep after every thunderstorm. I used to love the rain, before Mommy died. He gave me his old bear and passed down his love of old things – old things were beautiful and made to last, he told me once. I took it to heart. He taught me baseball and didn't tell Grandma when I wasn't ladylike. He brushed out my long blond hair and put it in ponytails before school when Grandma had to work. He didn't talk down to me – he treated me like a grown-up. The same way some little girls want to marry their daddy or their big brother, I had wanted to marry him when I was five. I couldn't fathom not seeing him every day.

I rode on Phillip's shoulders all the way down to the water – I would point out shells I wanted him to pick up and he would dutifully lean down and put them in the pocket of his swim trunks. I could see people staring at him – no, not at him, the boy didn't matter as much as the scars – and it made me mad but didn't seem to faze him. "People are staring at your scars, Philly! Staring is rude!" I informed him.

"I know, Bobbi – but it doesn't bother me," he said calmly.

The water was salty and cold, but Ben and I ran in anyway. "Watch out for jellyfish!" Grandma called worriedly. Phillip followed us into the water, and Benny ran to him and demanded to be thrown into the water, like Phillip did at the pool sometimes.

"Grandma would kill me, Benny," Phillip said in response. "There's no current in the pool – there is here. I'll swing you but I won't let go."  
"Me next!" I demanded shrilly.

"You next," he said with a weary sigh, even though I was far too heavy to be doing that.

We played at the beach for a couple of hours and Phillip's pockets were filled with shells I had picked out. It was beautiful and sunny and perfect – until I got pulled into a rip tide.

I was just minding my business, swimming along in the shallows, when I felt it pulling me into the ocean. I struggled against it, trying at least to keep my head above water but it was hard. I gasped for breath when my face hit air and I struggled to swim – I wasn't afraid, not as afraid as I should have been. It was more frustrating than anything – I didn't realize I was in grave danger. I thought I would just get out of it soon and swim back to shore.

I felt Phillip's arms around me, trying to pull me out – but he just got pulled in too. He kept pushing me out of the water so I could breathe, but we were still in bad shape. I didn't realize how bad – I tried to push him off, mad at him for treating me like a baby.

A moment later, there was another set of arms around us both – that of a lifeguard, who actually knew what she was doing and was a strong enough swimmer to get us out. I grabbed onto the red floater she brought with her, and Phillip grabbed the other side. She towed us in – we were both weary from struggling against the water, even though it was only for about four minutes at the most. In that time, the current had taken us out way further than I realized – that's when I got scared.

Grandma pushed me into one side and put one hand on my shoulder and wrapped her other arm around Phillip when we stood up on shore, crying and scolding me for not paying attention and Phillip for not letting the lifeguard lady get me. I pulled away and stumbled into the sand, then collapsed on the sand crying for no real reason.

"Oh baby – Bobbi I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled," Grandma said comfortingly and put a hand on my shoulder but I pushed it away. There was only one person I wanted.

I already realized how bad it must have been if the lifeguard went out to us, and I wanted my uncle, and I wanted him right that very minute. The lifeguard was talking to Grandma, asking if she wanted to call the medics to be safe. Grandma tried to say yes but Phillip insisted that we didn't need it.

Phillip seemed to know that I needed him – he sat down in the sand next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder and let me cry on his shoulder. "Thank you," I said after a long time, between ragged breaths.

"It's okay, Bobbi – I'll always be there for you," he said. "You don't have to thank me for that."

* * *

It's almost the end of the day – Clint has spent most of it sitting in a corner, playing with his phone. Which is fine – at least I still got work done, and I feel better knowing he's there. I feel even better because I know what's in the duffel bag at his feet – even though I know we'd be in so much trouble if anyone else found out. I haven't heard Phil sound scared in so long … in fact, have I ever heard him sound scared before?

If I did, we must have been real young.

I finish the work orders I need to do on my work computer – I can read papers and sift through my data on my laptop at home, and I don't have to wear shoes at home. With that done, I pack up my little suitcase to go.

"Oh, did you want me to go feed the axolotls and change their water, Dr. Morse?" Natalie asks when she sees me packing. She's my collaborator Dr. Jay's grad student, and she's doing her qualifying exam in one week.

"Didn't Jason do that?" I ask, referring to the undergrad that usually does the manual work like that.

"He sprained his wrist playing tennis yesterday," she answers. "It's no problem – I can do it."  
"Oh no – you need to get home and practice," I say quickly. "I can do it."  
"I'm sorry – what are you doing now?" Clint asks.

"Just going down to the basement to take care of the axies," I tell him.

"What? Bobbi …"  
"I can do it, Dr. Morse, it's no problem." Natalie's a pretty small girl – I know she'll be changing water for hours, and its not time she can afford to lose.

"Go on home, Nat, I have him to help me," I say, giving him a look over my shoulder.

"Is that code for you're going to tell me what to do?" he asks.

"I'll help," I insist. They have no idea why Clint's really with me – they think we're having work done at the apartment and he can't be around it.

"Fine. I'll do it," he says, in that way of his that says, "I'm very upset with you but I'll ignore it."

"If you're sure …" Natalie says hesitantly.

"I'm sure – go on. Go practice," I say, and she starts packing her things while Clint and I step out and head down the stairs.

"If we do it now we should be done in about an hour." I say, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Then maybe we could get some work done at home." I glance around to make sure we're alone in the stairway. "Or something else, if you like," I say suggestively and lean on him.

"I like the sound of that," he says, and he seems to walk down the stairs a little more quickly.

I stop halfway – I'm still getting used to feeling the baby move. Clint knows why I stopped and he stops too, and reaches back to put his hand on my belly. He can barely feel it – but it's so exciting for both of us. I know before long there will be kicks and elbowing and I'll probably miss these little butterfly wing brushes, and I cherish it while I can.

"We should go so we can get home," he says, and somehow I don't think he's up for the sex anymore – I know it's starting to weird him out because the baby is right there between us. It's disappointing, but also kind of sweet.

I turn the key in the room and almost get sick at the smell of the dechlorinator in the axies' water. It's not a pleasant smell at any time, but ever since I've been pregnant I can smell moonbeams. That's not even that much hyperbole – I had to move my desk away from the wall because suddenly I could smell the electricity. You know how your laptop smells if it runs too long and gets really hot? Yeah, like that. The dechlorinator, at the best of times, has this strong smell almost like rotten eggs – I had the displeasure of smelling it go bad once or twice, at which point it somehow managed to smell like rotten eggs only more rotten. If it goes bad while I'm pregnant, the janitor will definitely be cleaning up vomit.

The axies are set up on three racks, each one with four rows containing six axolotls in individual tanks per row, with two blanks on each rack. Each rack has its own main tank and filter system – water flows out of the main tank through the filters and a series of pipes into the axolotls' tanks, creating a gentle water flow. The overflow flows out the back of the tank, into a collection pipe, and ends up being back in the big tank. I pick up two test tubes to test the water from the blanks and Clint asks, "What's that for?"  
"If the ammonia levels and pH are okay, we can leave it for a day and hope Jason feels better or Dr. Jay finds some other kid to do it – maybe she should offer extra credit," I answer as I take the test tubes back to the rack where we keep the tester kits. The pH is instant – it looks good, for rack one at least. The ammonia takes five minutes. I get two more and go back for the second rack. The pH is way too acidic in this one – we've got to change at least one. "Okay we need to change this one," I say, pointing out the middle rack.

"We?" he asks.

"Yeah – I said I would help. We just need to turn off the water and then lift the tanks up a little so some water drains out the back into the system, then carry it over to the sink and pour out half the water and then put it back …"  
"Bobbi you're not carrying these heavy things and spilling this nasty water on you," he protests.

"It's not bad …"  
"These nasty things pee in this water!" he protests, and I almost laugh.

"They're not nasty – they're adorable," I insist, pretending to be angry but not being able to resist a smile.

"God only knows what parasites and bacteria and stuff they have," he answers, looking at one of the older axolotls. They're decidedly less cute when they're old – their eyes start to look beady and mean and their faces lose the "smiley" quality that little ones have. Plus they're huge – Old Bessie is at least ten inches long from nose to tail tip.

"Fine – do it all yourself," I say as I take the water for the third one. I can't wait to get this baby born so he'll stop being so protective.

The pH on the third is fine – still a few more minutes before I know about the ammonia on the first one. "Why don't you go ahead and get started on this one?" I ask, and pull the plug on the second rack. I take a closer look at the filters and realize that at least one of them needs to be changed – it's gone black from muck. I walk around looking at the other filters while Clint struggles to move one tank – it looks like both the filters on rack three need to be replaced but rack one is fine for now.

The timer for the first rack goes off and I check the ammonia levels – it's a little high. "Bad news – you're going to have to change the first one too," I say. He mutters something under his breath about nasty things living in pee water, and again, I almost laugh.

"Make sure their little figures and plants don't fall out," I say as he pours, just to annoy him. "And be really gentle with them – they don't like to be jostled around," I say more seriously as he carries the tank back to the rack.

"They can have their brains cut out and just grow them back but they don't like to be jostled?"  
"Yes – they're also particular about their water conditions. They're funny like that," I say, and now I'm a little grumpy too. It's not like I like having to do this – that's what undergrads are for.

I go to the shelves on the end of the room opposite the axie racks and lift down the box where we keep our filters, and to my annoyance, I see that we only have one left – if I'm going to have to get more, I'm gonna go ahead and change all of them. "Honey, I'm going to have to get filters from the storeroom," I say as he starts to lift the second axolotl and I head for the door. He sets it right back down and starts to follow me.

"It's right down the hall," I protest, almost laughing once again.

"You heard your uncle – we're supposed to stay together," he protests.

"Not right on top of each other – I'll be fine."  
"At least take the arrows."

I really do laugh then – but I indulge him and pick up his duffle bag before leaving the animal room.

I knock on the stockroom door only a few rooms down from the axolotl room – there's no answer for a long time. "Hank?" I call to the store room manager. He's always there during business hours – and if he weren't for some reason, I'd think he'd post a sign.

After waiting a while longer, I start to get a bad feeling.

I check the door and it's unlocked. Something in me doesn't want to open it … but I do.

I smell the blood and the musk of the wolf before I see it.

It's so massive it barely fits in the stock room – it's hunched down towards the ground, wedged between two shelves, with blood dripping from its jowls and smeared all down its front. It looks up at me and growls – I quickly shut the door, even though I don't know what good that will do. I have no idea how it got in here – there's only one door into the stockroom and it's far too small for this creature. I back up with heart pounding in my chest, knowing we found the creature Phillip's team is chasing. I feel Francis's fluttering movements against my belly at an almost constant rate – he must be stirred up by my rapid heart rate.

The nearest fire alarm is just across the hall – I pull it, knowing that unless they smell smoke, most of the researchers won't leave, but I can get at least some of them out and it will alert the S.H.I.E.L.D. detail outside.

As soon as I do, the room grows cold, the lights in the building go out, and some kind of mostly opaque red field goes up on either side of the hall. It appears all at once – before I can even get into sprinting position, they're there. I sprint to it anyway, my hands out in case it's hard. It is – my hands collide with something as tough as glass. I pound on it, to no avail.

I see a figure at the edge of it, and I hear the faint sound of him pounding on it – it must be thick, to muffle the sound so. I can just make out Clint's voice calling for me – I knew it was him before he spoke. "I'm so sorry Clint – I should have waited," I call, knowing he won't hear it. "I'm so sorry, Francis," I say more softly, with a hand on my belly. He's still moving like crazy – I'm more afraid of dying before having him than I am of dying.

It starts to shrink, and I try to stand in place but whatever force is bringing it closed, pushes me with significant force. I have no doubts it's pushing me into the storeroom – I need to be calm. I step away, back to the door, sliding Clint's bow and quiver of arrows out of the duffel bag. I'm not very good with the bow, but it's the only weapon I've got. I press the button on the quiver for a regular arrow – it's too close quarters in an old building for explosive or incendiary arrows, and I doubt a taser would do much. I slowly open the door, which opens outward, with my foot, pointing my weapon at the other side.

The wolf lunges forward, pushing its head through the door, snapping at me. I jump back quickly to avoid its gnashing teeth, but I think quickly and aim for one yellow eye. I let it fly, and at such close quarters it doesn't miss – it sinks in deep into the socket. The thing howls in pain and pulls back – I step back myself, and run into the force field, which is now on all three sides. I step through the door – I don't like the prospect of me and the baby being smashed against the door if it closes before I'm inside – but stay as close to the door as I can for as long as I can. The wolf dies fairly quickly – or at least it lays totally still. Even so, I'm not terribly interested in going close to it before I have to.

Thankfully, the field stops at the stockroom door – it closed it by force.

I load another arrow and keep it at the ready.

I can just make out the sound of someone pounding on the door – I think I hear Clint's voice on the other side, calling for me. I hope he's safe – I try not to worry about what might happen to him.

I look around the room, forcing myself to breathe slowly and keeping my back to the door. I don't quite trust the shield, but I don't think it's going to kill me – probably.

I hear the other wolf growling somewhere deep in the back of the now pitch black storeroom – granted I was not looking too closely the first time, but I'm still sure it was not here before. Which terrifies me since I have no idea how many could potentially be sent in here or where else they might pop up.

I see its glowing yellow eyes reflecting light in the dark, and I take aim with hands I steady with deep breathing. No matter what else is coming, I have to be calm.

I know the S.H.I.E.L.D. detail is probably already working, that my husband is frantically trying to get to me. I know that, somewhere, my uncle is going to come for me as soon as he hears the news.

But I'm the only one in here with the wolves – I'm the only one that's going to save me this time.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I hate the damsel in distress thing as much as the next girl. For a long time it was Clint stuck in the store room – but that just simply didn't pack the same emotional punch for Coulson.


	14. Chapter 13: Burn (Coulson)

Chapter 13

Burn

Coulson

**Author's Note:**

For maximum effect, have dramatic music on hand to play directly after reading the last line of this chapter. If nothing comes to mind, search "Magica Madoka second ending theme," on YouTube. I would post a link but does that truncating thing which would make it pointless. Ignore creepy fanart if you find the video I did.

This fic is based on a WMG proposed by Dracia V on tvtropes. I am not sure why it compelled me but … it did. More details to follow in the next chapter.

* * *

One boat ride, one long and wild cab ride, one police stop, and a lot of called in favors later, I'm on the USC campus outside of the building where Bobbi does her work – it's been three hours since I got the call, and I'm beyond angry that I was not with my team so I could have driven Lola directly here and been here within the hour, assuming they weren't closer to start with.

The place is crawling with agents, firefighters, and concerned family members. "What's the newest update?" I ask the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. agent I know. He doesn't know Bobbi's my niece – as I said, we don't advertise, so people don't think she gets things because of me – so he probably has no idea I'm not supposed to be here.

"Agent Coulson – good to see you out and about sir," he says casually, and I keep my face calm, even though inside I'm dying. My niece and her baby and my nephew-in-law are all in there, possibly dying. "This is a weird one," he says, still casually. "We've got this red barrier over every entry to the building – we tried to cut through with construction tools, and the barrier is on the inside of the walls too – nothing cuts through it. It also appears to have taken the power out – it's dark inside, and the fire alarm was pulled but went silent after just a few seconds," I hear something whispering, and I look to the source but the agent doesn't, so I just pretend I'm looking at the barrier he's indicated. "This barrier went up a few minutes after the fire alarm went silent – some of the occupants left, but a bunch are still in there. We estimate there are at least sixteen civilians in there, including two children, and two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents – a married couple, two Agent Bartons."

I hear the whisper much more clearly this time, "Phillip," it says. A chill runs down my spine but I don't show it.

"And we don't know anything about the condition of these civilians?" I ask.  
"I'm afraid not – none of them have come to the visible entrances, and our visibility isn't far." There's probably a good reason for that.

"Phillip," I hear it again, more insistent.

It's a trap, I know it's a trap. But I don't see any choice.

I make my way through the crowd to the nearest door – I can see the barrier he talked about. It's sort of opaque – unless someone was right up against it, we couldn't see them. "Phillip …" the voice says, more loudly. I think it's just in my head – that's not at all comforting.

"Sir – no one can get through," someone calls to me, but I ignore her.

I put my hand against the red barrier, and a number of people in the crowd gasp as it falls right through. I try to pull my hand back – I want to get better weapons if I'm going in alone. But I can't pull it back – this was bad planning. Then again, I had no way of knowing for sure I could get through. I push my hand forward, and more of my arm goes through. I have no choice but to walk forward.

It's dim inside the building – they were right about the power being cut. Oddly, it's freezing cold – even though the AC must be out too. I can even see my breath – even with it on, they wouldn't have kept it that cold. I pull my sidearm – I'm not letting my guard down around whatever's in here.

I walk slowly but deliberately, with ears peeled. I check every room I pass – most of the doors are locked, but now and then I open one and see no one inside.

It gets more and more ominous as I walk and see no one.

Incredibly, my phone rings. I reach for it, incredulous. I stand with my back to the wall, looking down both the hall in both directions, and I answer.

"Coulson?! Thank God! I can't get anyone else!" Clint says breathlessly. I'm very glad it's not the woman who whispered to me. Or the wolf – I almost expected a snarl or the dark velvet voice Fenrir used to speak to me in my dream. "No one can get through to anyone …"

"Where are you?" I ask, resisting the urge to demand he put me on with Bobbi.

"We're on the third floor in room three thirteen – we can't go any higher because of the barrier but I wanted us as far away from the wolves as possible." I start looking for the nearest stairs to get up too as soon as he says that.

"Is Bobbi with you?" I ask as I spot a stairwell just a few feet down the hall.

"Coulson … I'm so sorry …"  
"What did you do?!"

"She just went down the hall … I didn't want to let her go," he says, and he sounds so hysterical I'm almost not angry. Almost.

"What happened?" I ask as I practically dive into the stairwell and start making my way up.

"She went to get filters and then the lights died … then the first barrier went up … she has to be in the store room … Coulson I can't get through it … she has my bow … she might be okay." I can tell he's cried – this is a man that's not prone to tears. "I was so worried trying to get to her I didn't … I didn't see it until it was almost right on me. I've got everyone here in this room … sixteen civilians, two of them children." Exactly what the agent at the gate said.

"How many wolves did you see?"  
"Just one – but the professors saw another, so we've got at least two. Bobbi killed one. I'm pretty sure she did anyway …." I grit my teeth and force myself to assume he's right and she did kill it – I can't even think about any other possibility right now. And hopefully … that was the only one in the room with Bobbi. We've counted three wolves doing the attacks so far – maybe that's all there were. But even as I hope for that, I know better.

I make it to the third floor and start looking for three thirteen. "Coulson – where are you?" he asks, and I know he's just had the realization.

"I got in – no I don't know if I can get back out. Whatever this is, it wants me. I don't see what other choice I have." By now I see the door. "I'm right outside. I'm hanging up."

As I put the phone back in my pocket, Clint opens the door. I step into the classroom, and take note of everyone – they're all looking up at me eagerly, glad that someone with some semblance of authority is here. The two aforementioned children are clearly brother and sister – they both look just like the professor who is holding the toddler boy in his lap at one of the desks. The girl is a little older, maybe five or six, and she's holding really tightly to her daddy. I'm not sure if that's because she's scared or because she's cold – like everyone else she's dressed for summer. She's wrapped in a light cotton jacket way too big for her and the boy is in a bright silver blanket – a shock blanket from a first aid kit. Of the fourteen adults, almost half of them barely qualify for the term. Some of them have to be undergraduates – I don't buy them as any older than twenty, and they look more like eighteen or nineteen. Most of the kids and even some of the professors are in shorts and short-sleeved shirts and shivering – one or two have a light jacket because I guess it tends to be cold in this building anyway, but it's not doing much good now. A couple of the girls are in the shock blankets too and they seem to be doing better. Even Clint is shivering in his sleeveless T-shirt – he likes to show off his arms just a little too much. The biggest danger may not be the wolves – if we stay in here too long, people are going to start freezing to death. I assume that's possible even at these temperatures – I know in the ocean, even in tropical waters, people left adrift in life vests succumb to hypothermia more often than to sharks.

I take charge like they want me to. "I want everyone to take turns with the shock blankets and the jackets – I also want everyone to walk back and forth in the room. Try to stay warm enough you don't shiver. Are there any more first aid kits we have access to?"  
One of the female students starts to answer. "No sir – most of them are in the teaching labs on the first floor where the …" She takes a look at the children and hesitates.

"Understood. Continue trading off and follow the rest – we're going to get everyone out of here. There's emergency responders right outside, attempting to cut through the barrier …"  
"And they haven't been able to do it in hours," one of the professors cuts in.

"They will. They're trying."

"How did you get in?" the same professor asks. She's an older lady, who looks pretty much like my stereotype of a professor.

"I … was able to get through the barrier, for reasons unknown. I was not able to move back." She looks at me suspiciously, almost like she knows I'm the one it's all about, but I ignore the look in her eye and turn to Clint.

"I know you prefer a bow, Barton – you're going to have to make due with this," I say and hand him my sidearm, a .45 Glock.

"You're going to take on those wolves with that little gun?" one of the male professors protests.

"Oh, he will," I say, and can't help but smile a little. Clint's identity was redacted as best as possible from the footage at the attack on New York – it's likely they have no idea they're in a room with one of the heroes of that day. To arm myself, I take the smaller Glock from my ankle holster – I don't want to be totally defenseless even though with my aim and the 9 mm I'd probably just annoy it.

Opening the door to the stairwell, knowing what's on the other side now, makes my heart pound. I do it slowly, looking either way before opening it fully. Clint steps out first, looking down the hall one way and I look the other. We move along, keeping our backs to the wall, eyes and ears peeled for any movement, any sound.

I glance around the corner to the hallway which Clint says includes the storeroom where Bobbi's trapped – I see two huge wolves laying in front of it and I have to bite my tongue to keep from cursing. I grab Clint's arm and push him back a few steps. "Both of them," I mouth at him when he looks at me questioningly. We need a plan. A plan that doesn't end with one or both of us getting mauled before we ever reach Bobbi.

I knew, I knew from the numbers Simmons gave me they were big. I knew from the damage they did to the bodies and the tracks they left, that they were big.

Knowing and seeing are different things – they barely fit in the building. In fact, I don't know how they got in.

Clint's good, but with that caliber of weapon, he's going to need more than one shot on each. We need something we can use as cover so he can get multiple shots out. But anything that would be an effective barrier against the wolves is going to be far too heavy to move.

_Sis, if you're listening, help me. Watch out for your baby – help me save her, _I pray silently.

Clint pulls me along back to the stairwell – I wonder if he already has a plan, or if he just realizes we need a better place to plan. We duck in, and to be surprise we start to head down into the basement. "Clint are you insane – God knows what's down there," I whisper sharply. I can already see its pitch black down there – unlike the upper floors, no natural light filters in down here.

"Hear me out Coulson – there's an elevator right across from the store room. I didn't even consider it because of the power outage … but assuming we could get into the shaft and pry the doors open …"  
"We could duck down and have cover from the wolves," I say. They're definitely too big to fit into the shaft – but they could definitely get their heads in to grab us if we don't duck fast enough. "As long as it didn't come to rest on the ground or first floor." And we don't get eaten on the way there – that would be a useful first step.

"Even if it's on the ground, we can go through the top of the elevator."

"That's a tight squeeze for ducking down in a hurry," I say skeptically. "And we don't have time to modify it in any useful way."

"We'll figure it out – I can stand on your shoulders to fire and you go down in a hurry if I say to." That's going to kill my knees and back but my comfort's literally my lowest priority at this point.

"You realize this is the part of the horror movie where we die horribly, don't you?" I ask as I fumble for my cell phone to use as a flashlight.  
"We'll use mine, I have an app," Clint says as he gets his out.

"There's an app for using your phone as a flashlight?" I ask disgustedly.

"It's useful isn't it?" Clint says in a snarky tone. "And yes … this is the part where we die gruesomely, if this were a horror movie. Let's hope it's a romantic comedy with a weird-ass opening scene instead," he says. I find it in me to smile a little.

Going as quickly as we dare, we move through the pitch black basement with only the light of our cell phones (mine goes off now and then and I have to press another button) to see. We know sight is not our ally here – we listen with strained ears, listening for any heavy breathing besides our own or the sound of movement. We even keep our noses open – most wild animals are pretty musky, maybe we'll smell the wolf over the general must and formaldehyde smell of this basement and not stumble right into its jaws. It is somewhat cramped and dark down here – maybe they couldn't fit.

I catch it in the glint of my cell phone – sharp teeth in a gaping jaw. I fire immediately at the eyes I can't see yet, only realizing after I fire I should have seen them first. Clint screams curses as the bullet shatters the taxidermied head of a long-dead bear.

Both of us stare at it a few minutes, this eerie headless bear with paws outstretched menacingly. Then Clint starts to laugh hysterically – I never quite understood what that term meant until now. It's a high-pitched, wild, unhinged laugh, nothing like his usual laugh, which I've heard so many times. "Clint, quiet," I whisper anxiously, but it's not like the shooting wouldn't have drawn anything down here to us already. He gets a hold of himself and I listen for a while. But nothing is moving down here that I can hear.

We go on, not far from our destination now – we make it to a large storage room that, presumably, is just under the one Bobbi is trapped in. It's creepy as hell – all these preserved creatures in jars on shelves and all this science equipment stacked on tables that, in a sunlit lab, would look perfectly friendly, but in a dark lab in a creepy basement, look more like something out of _Frankenstein _or _Re-Animator_. The elevator's on the other side – we look down both halls and then figure out what we can do, look for tools to use. In the creepy storeroom, there's a section of janitorial and maintenance tools – including, thank God, a crowbar. I grab it and head for the shaft – Clint shines his phone for me while I jam it into the gap between doors and pull as hard as I've ever pulled in my life. The shaft doors slide open and the elevator is not on the ground – Clint shines his light up and the elevator is clearly on the third or fourth floor. I really hope there's not more civilians stuck in it up there.

We go back to the storeroom to look for something to stand on – something less precarious than the ladder on the back. I realize one of the tables in the store room is sturdy but moveable and start to carefully remove all the glassware and … I don't know, creature jars … off it and Clint takes his arm and knocks everything off it at once, and glass shatters all around. The smell of formaldehyde fills the air more strongly. I curse at him – on a better day he might make fun of the fact he finally bugged me enough to make me swear. "Now there's glass and formaldehyde everywhere, dumb ass," I note as we both pick it up and move it to the elevator shaft. "And God only knows how much that stuff cost."

"We both have good shoes on, and you already shot a bear," he says, unaffected by the criticism. Both are fair points.

We set the table in the shaft and wait – I hear the wolves start to growl. I really hope they don't already have their faces against the shaft when I get it open. Clint sits on the table with the .45 at the ready while I get the crowbar.

Once again I shove it into the gap and shove, ready to jump down as soon as they slide open.

I get down just in time to miss the gnashing jaws of one of the wolves and get out of Clint's line of fire – he fires three, four times. They all hit – one in each eye, one in the throat, one in its open mouth. Blood and vitreous jelly rains down on us – I hope it doesn't make it too slick to get out. It yelps in agony and jerks back. The other one whimpers and, from the sound of scampering feet, runs away. I'm almost sorry for them.

Which is stupid, given the number of people these things have killed.

Cautiously, I climb on the table. Both wolves are indeed gone – there's a big trail of blood where one took off. The other one is way down the hall, scratching at a classroom door and hysterically howling to get out. Clint starts to put his hands up to climb out, but I tell him no. "Stay down here – if it comes back or another one shows up, I need you to cover me."

The floor is indeed slick with blood – and even with the table, it's quite a ways up to the first floor. Clint grabs me around the hips and gives me a boost up so I don't die trying to make it – it's not very dignified but dignity's now at an even lower priority than comfort. That other wolf is still there, so I waste no time crossing the hall to the door and opening it. The same red barrier that was over the outside door is here – I practically jump through, more worried about getting to Bobbi and away from the one in the hall than caution.

As soon as I'm through, I see my nightmare for the next decade – Bobbi kneeling on the floor, pale from blood loss and drenched in her own blood, Clint's bow at her feet, with her (for now) still attached arm grasped tightly in the jaws of a wolf so big it can't stand up in the room. "Fenrir?" I ask, even though that theory seems out after knowing there's more than one wolf – but the way it holds her, like it's holding her hostage, waiting for me to get there …

Its eyes are a plain wolfen yellow. I don't know why, but I discount immediately it's Fenrir I'm speaking to.

But not that it's intelligent.

"Why do you have her?" I demand. It answers in that same telepathic way Fenrir used in my dream, only it uses a language I don't understand … a terribly familiar language. A chill runs up my spine.

"I don't … I don't speak Asgardian," I say haltingly. _Whatever took over me when Lorelei tried to get me, I could use your help right now._

"Phil, what the hell are you talking about?" Bobbi whispers, looking up at me in terror.

"I don't … I don't understand you," I say pleadingly. It tightens its jaw, making Bobbi give a sharp gasp of pain.

It has a collar on it – now that I think about it so did the wolf in the hall. What's that about?

"You want this?" I ask, holding out my gun. It nods slightly – or does it? Am I going crazy? I kneel down and set my gun on the floor and shove it towards the wolf. It lets Bobbi go – she falls to the floor with a heavy thud and cradles her bleeding arm.

I step forward, wondering what it wants.

It doesn't move, only keeps glaring at me and repeating the same thing over and over. "I don't understand …" I repeat softly. I hear the whirring of Clint's quiver but ignore it, hoping the wolf does too. I step closer, wondering how I can make it understand.

There's a sudden movement and the wolf pulls back with a bleeding eye, smashing several shelves out of its way – only then do I notice two dead wolves in the room. Bobbi fought hard …

The smell of burning flesh starts to permeate the air. Bobbi's on the ground, having just barely missed the wolf's thrashing. I don't think she can get up – I think she used the last of her strength to stab Clint's arrow into the thing that held her captive. Moving faster than I thought was physically possible, I go to her and grab her under the shoulders and haul her to her feet and let her lean on me. "Get Clint's arrows," she says. "He might need them." If she hadn't added that, I wouldn't have – but there's still another wolf out there. I lean down with her – my knees and back don't like this but they'll just have to cope for now – and grab the bow and the quiver in one hand and then I stand up and throw us both at the barrier at the door. There's no time to be gentle – the smell of burning flesh is now accompanied by various chemical smells, and God only knows what's in this storeroom. I get us to the barrier and put my hand out, hoping to God it'll give for Bobbi.

I'm incredibly glad when the barrier shatters as I touch it, and the pieces vanish as soon as they hit the ground. There's a dead wolf lying right in the middle of the hall now – I look up and see Clint standing so his head is just visible, and I see how the joy on his face at seeing me with Bobbi drains out with the color when he sees how bad Bobbi looks. I glance both ways for wolves, then help her around the dead one and throw Clint his weapons. He throws me my .45. "Get the professors and the kids– there's a fire." He can probably already smell it. "I'm getting Bobbi out." She needs medical attention ASAP. "I'll be back when I can."

I keep my gun out but I don't expect to run into any more wolves, somehow – maybe I just took the barrier in the storeroom shattering as a good sign.

"I'm so sorry – I was stupid, I should have stayed with Clint," she tells me tearfully as I practically drag her the quickest way I remember back to the front door.

"No no baby … I'm the one who's sorry," I whisper and fight back tears. This is about me – it's always been about me. And she's the one who had to pay for it.

The barrier is still at the door but that doesn't concern me. I don't even slow down when I reach it – I thrust an arm out, expecting it to break like before …

And my arm slams against a very solid barrier. "Phil?" Bobbi asks worriedly. I set her down against the nearest wall, not accepting it. I try again, and it doesn't give. I pound and kick it, knowing it does no good, panic rising in my whole body. No. No it can't work like this. "No!" I scream out loud as I pound it again. "You son of a bitch, let us out!" I scream at no one in particular, and pound it one more time.

It's not going to give, and I'm not doing any good by panicking and bruising my knuckles – at this rate, I'll break a hand or a toe a long time before I break the barrier. I lean against it, trying to catch my breath. If all the wolves are gone, maybe we can wait it out …

I start to smell the smoke from the flames. It's spreading quickly.

"That was stupid, so stupid," Bobbi says weakly, and I know she smells it too. She probably smelled it before me, being pregnant and all.

"No – you had to get it. I don't know what it would have done."

I wrack my brains for what else we could do …

"Do you think there's any chance we could fight the fire?" I ask.

"Not by now – by now it'll be huge and fed by ethanol and everything else in that storeroom," she says miserably. "You'd need more foam than in all the fire extinguishers in the building."

I hear footsteps thundering down the stairs and the hall. They come to a sudden stop – I slowly turn around and see Clint and all the others staring at the still intact barrier in horror – we were trapped in a freezing building with giant wolves, now we're trapped in a burning building that may still have a giant wolf or two lurking about. Our situation has not exactly approved.

"Bring them closer, we'll stay as close to the barrier as we can and still stay back a safe distance – surely someone will get through it soon," I say, managing to sound calm even though I'm anything but. But these people need to see me be calm. Clint nods – I see him put on his best face too – and we all gather around about fifteen feet back from the entrance and sit down to wait. One of the professors goes to Bobbi and starts doing what first aid he can – he applies pressure to the bleeding and wraps her in one of the shock blankets, quickly donated by one of the students. Clint sits by his wife and wraps his arm around her, carefully avoiding the wound in her shoulder.  
"You're going to be okay, Bobbi," he says.

"I was stupid, Clint, I did a stupid thing … I'm so sorry …"  
"No – I should have made you stay …" he pleads. Everyone is looking at them with a mixture of curiosity and hostility, so they cut that out right away.

"At least it will be warmer," Clint says with a feeble attempt at a smile. His humor is not appreciated.

* * *

Agonizing minutes tick by as the smoke gets thicker and thicker. Some of the professors are starting to choke and vomit from the smoke – the little ones are unconscious. The air is so hot it hurts to breathe, and our skin stings with the heat – I can still see the vague shapes of people frantically working on the other side of the barrier. Firemen, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and Stark in his suit. If Stark can't break it, no one can. Except maybe Thor – and assuming he's even on Earth, they had to locate him, apprise him of the situation, and he had to get across either the Pacific ocean or the Atlantic and the continent to get to us.

I don't risk taking out my clips to count them – I don't want to panic anyone until the last minute. Mentally, I go over how many I keep on my person, how many bullets Clint used to kill the wolves, assuming he used as many on the second wolf as the first … Mentally I count the number of people here …

I'm most likely short five bullets. The little ones are already asleep – I can snap their necks. That will be better anyway – no risk I'll wake the other with the sound of a gunshot. They'll be spared the horror of what will happen. Clint, Bobbi, and I knew what we were getting into – and anyway Bobbi's wounds look so bad she may …

My niece, the little girl who used to capture and photograph bugs for a nonlethal collection and fall asleep in my bed when there was a thunderstorm, is going to die in her husband's arms while I watch, one way or another, and her baby will never take a breath. All of these people – two beautiful little children, young people just starting their lives, who should have changed the world for the better, and a handful of storied professors with families of their own – are going to die by my hand. I'll murder them to spare them the fate that's going to happen to me. If Clint lets me, I'll use my knife to spare him the suffering – I'll end the life I gave a second chance, kill the man my niece loved so much, the man whose wife and child are going to die here.

Unless I'm fortunate enough to choke to death on the smoke first, I am going to burn to death.

"Everyone stay calm," I say evenly, reassuringly, as I watch Stark hammer uselessly at the barrier for a while before moving on – I have no idea what's going on, but I assume he's trying to get in somewhere else. I wonder if S.H.I.E.L.D. is frantically contacting Professor Randolph – but not every Asgardian knows about magic, and it seems unlikely a simple mason would be one of the privileged few. And for all I know they have their own magic experts tucked away somewhere, watching curiously while we all die.

Maybe they'll wait until after I kill the others and then rush in to save me – I'm useful for whatever reason. That thought is so awful I almost break – the little prayer I've always carried inside me builds up in me so strongly I almost speak out loud.

There's a little figure at the barrier now – maybe I'm going crazy but I think it's Skye. The barrier ripples promisingly for several seconds – maybe it's whatever made her an 084 finally kicking in – and my heart soars. The sobbing stops for just a minute as everyone looks up, anxiously hoping for the best. I look down at Bobbi – she's paler than ever but she almost smiles. But then the little figure that may be Skye collapses, and the barrier goes back to normal.

I stare in disbelief for just a second – everyone does. The effect of being given the briefest of hope and then having it yanked away is somehow even worse than just waiting for death. Then the sobbing begins again, harder and more desperate than before. I look down at Bobbi – she looks stricken. Tears stream down her face and make trails in the blood and soot.

"Everyone …" I say softly, and I know they didn't hear. I'm going to tell them what I want to do – give them the choice. I don't think any of them will choose to burn. I take a deep breath – I'll have to raise my voice. Cautiously, I get to my feet, even though that means lifting my head higher into the smoke.

The flames lick into view and everyone screams – the fire's hotter and closer than I thought it would be. I'll have to hurry, I can't drag my feet any more if I don't want anyone but me to burn to death. The little prayer isn't little anymore – it builds up inside me and finally bubbles over.

"Sister, help me!" I cry out with what's left of my voice. I fall forward until I lay facedown on the ground as everyone stares, and I whisper things I've never even thought before but somehow make perfect sense. "Oh powerful and radiant Queen Hela, have mercy on your frail brother, give him the strength to save these people." I wait, somehow unafraid, for just a few seconds before I feel something surge through my body, like electricity only … stronger. It hurts but I don't cry out. I hear a voice in my head, saying _Go and break the barrier. _A woman's voice, deep and dark, but seductive. I get to my feet and walk to the barrier, and everyone stares after me. I put both hands against it, and the power surges through my whole body again. It hurts – like one of those stupid joy buzzers is contacting every nerve in my body – but I'm not about to complain. The barrier ripples violently, like it did for Skye, but then, spreading outward in a circle from my hands, it goes completely opaque and turns solid, and in the space of about fifteen seconds every bit of the barrier I can see is like that. Then, cracks begin to form, again in a circle away from my hands, and the cracks grow all the way to the ground and up over the top of the doorframe. And then it shatters like glass – and the fragments hover in the air for just half a second before they disappear completely. The power flows out of me – it's just as painful leaving as it was coming – and I stumble just over the threshold and fall to my knees and then forward onto the ground.

As soon as the barrier dissolves, firefighters rush past me going one way and the civilians rush past the other way, barely escaping the flames. I try to get up to go back in to make sure Clint can get Bobbi, but someone puts an arm around my shoulders and hauls me to my feet and starts to march me away. I'm coughing so hard, trying desperately to clear my lungs of smoke, that I can't resist. "Come on, Coulson – Stark hasn't seen you yet and if we hurry …" It's May's voice.

"But Bobbi …"  
"I've got her Coulson!" Clint calls reassuringly, and I see May wince at him calling my name like that.

"I have to make sure she's okay …"  
"Coulson! Move it!" she says harshly and pulls me harder, and I can't resist. My head is light, and my throat and lungs feel so raw I wouldn't be surprised if some of what I'm coughing up is burned tissue.

May half-lifts, half-throws me into an ambulance and the men inside shut the door behind me – they must be S.H.I.E.L.D. medics. They put an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose and lay me down, removing my clothes to look for burns and other wounds.

The little ones may still die of smoke inhalation – they may already be dead – and even some of the adults may die. They may have emphysema, lung cancer later … God only knows what was in that smoke … because someone was after me …

But they didn't burn.

"Thank you," I say out loud to … whoever just helped me. I knew when I prayed, but now I don't anymore. But I guess she's still watching, and understood in spite of the mask, because she not only speaks to me, but appears (probably as an illusion, like Loki did several times) in the ambulance with me. The medics don't react to her presence – they clearly still think I'm crazy. She is tall and pale, all dressed in black and achingly beautiful – from what I can tell when the upper half of her face is hidden by a black mask. She leans down to kiss me on the cheek. I should be terrified but I feel … safe. Incredibly safe – I know no harm will come to me while she watches, if only I call out to her. After the last few years, no, decades, of my life, I feel the weight of the world come off my shoulders all at once, and I almost cry in relief. I try to reach up to embrace her, but the medics restrain me and I can't. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," I say over and over again. She laughs – not derisively. Almost sweetly. She takes my hand and the paramedics watch, curious – wondering what I'm "hallucinating."

_It was a small favor for my favorite brother. None of those souls were mine except yours anyway, Fenrir. _


	15. Chapter 14: Memory (Coulson)

Chapter 14

Memory

Coulson/Fenrir

The curtain rolled back and Fury faded from view. I felt arms around me as the pain subsided. "Welcome home little brother," a voice said … but it wasn't Emily's. I felt myself go out of my body and I felt … infinite. There was no more pain.

And then my eyes were opened and I saw both my lives – even things I couldn't have seen. I saw Sigyn pleading for my life after I ate Tyr's hand.

"Allfather, please, don't do this," Sigyn pleaded, practically on her knees before his throne. "Loki will never forgive you! Thor will never forgive you!"

"He's dangerous – we've known that all along but he's just proven he's willing to kill men. What else would you have me do?" Odin demanded, but there were real tears in his eyes. This was no easy decision for him. For the first time, I understood him.

"There is another way, my lord," she said reluctantly. "I have thought of it often but … it was not worth it …"

"Speak of it now, while we have time," he answered.

"If … The Midgardian mortals have a way to temporarily keep their bodies alive after their souls have gone on, they use it to say good bye or to transplant their organs to another who might yet live," she explained. Odin looked disgusted at the thought – I knew how barbaric that must have sounded to someone with healing stones and organs that can be grown in a jar. "We could put Fen's soul in one such person …"

"Would he have any of Fen's memories?" Grandmother asked.

"No – he would only remember his life as a human," Sigyn answered. "It's why … I never spoke of it. But … there is a chance that Thor and Loki would forgive you if they thought he died of his wounds combined with hunger … and we'd know Fenrir was alive somewhere …"

"But not in any meaningful way – it will be just the same as though he died, only instead of being at peace with his sister, he'll be on Earth with strangers … it's cruel, not just to him, but to the mortal's family …" Grandmother protested. She had a very valid point.

"There would be a small chance he could recover his memories later," Odin said, stroking his beard as he mulled it over.

"That would be no better. The mortals think we are a myth – you'd be condemning this poor mortal to thinking he was losing his mind, and there's no way of knowing how he would react to such a thing …"  
"But he'd be alive, somewhere," Sigyn pleaded desperately. "And there would be some hope of repairing your relationship with your sons." By then her eyes were rimmed with red from weeping over me.

"Do it," Grandfather said after a long silence. "A life on Earth is better than none at all."

* * *

I saw my murderer, my father, kneeling by my wolfen body, stricken. His silver tongue was silent as he wrapped his arms around my neck and silently cried into my fur, heedless of the blood that seeped into his clothes and coated his skin as he did. Uncle Thor – no wonder I liked him! – stood a few feet back, also silently weeping as he watched his brother's grief. "He's … he's at peace now, Loki. His sister will …"

"Don't speak to me of peace or his 'sister!' " Father answered bitterly, lifting his face from my neck. "I … I failed him. I promised him every day I would make him a boy … and I couldn't do that. He knew I couldn't … even he didn't believe in me, in the end." His grief almost made me weep – I wanted to reach out to him, I wanted to tell him sorry for grieving him. In that moment, in that infinite space with no pain except the memory, there was no hatred, no anger, even though he had murdered me less than five minutes ago. I fell into some approximation of the body of the cub I was when I was his good little boy without thinking, but I spoke like a human child.

"I'm sorry Daddy – I didn't mean it. I always believed in you," I said desperately, trying to get his attention. I nuzzled his hand but I fell right through his body … it was just a memory after all. "Daddy …"

"Daddy …"

"Phillip stay down." This memory was in my mind all my human life, but it was never mine. The last moments of Phillip Coulson on Earth, on the floor of the First National Bank in Nolan, Pennsylvania. The first gunshot rang out and the little boy's façade of bravery shattered and he started to sob as everyone else began to scream and sob.

"Daddy …"  
"I love you Philly," David Coulson, an older man, told his beloved baby son, his voice steady despite the tears and the terror. He lay prone on the floor, with Phillip pinned underneath him, the only way he could shield his son from the gunman, and he did it even though he knew it wouldn't work. He shifted himself a little bit so he was completely on top of his son, risking smothering him in the process. "I figure we're gonna go see Jesus real soon, Philly … it's okay … we won't be sad anymore there … we won't be scared there …"

"You! On your knees!" the man in black, tall with a scar on his chin, dark brown hair and the devil's eyes, said coldly. Everyone else had been shot while kneeling, execution style.

"You're gonna kill me anyway," David said defiantly, and refused to move. He knew the robber was going to kill his son, but he'd be damned before he made it easy. So the man in black shot him through the back of the head where he lay, then killed the other two adults, then went back to David. He tried to roll him off, but the old veteran was too much deadweight for a stringy heroin addict to lift easily. So the man in black emptied his gun into David's back – nine-year-old Phillip screamed with each bullet, half of which made it through his father's body to him, then fell silent, playing dead, biting his lip to keep from screaming or crying anymore. The robber made one more token effort to kick David's body off of the boy, then decided the kid was as good as dead and took off.

Phillip waited until he was sure he'd suffocate, then just managed to get his face around his dad's shoulder, but it wasn't any easier to breathe. He'd been shot once in the chest, twice in the gut, and once in the arm. The police were there in a matter of minutes – it was a small town and they didn't have far to go. They rolled David away when they heard Phillip gasping for air and trying to call for help. "Bill Horn," tiny Phillip – he looked so tiny, bleeding out all the blood in his little body while the young policeman did his best to staunch the bleeding – managed to gasp out.

"Is that who did this Phil?" the policeman asked. "Just nod yes." Phillip did – brave until the end. "You did good, little Phil … little Phil … please stay with me, I need you to think about your mommy …" But he was already almost gone. As soon as he was unconscious the police officer lost his cool and started to cry – he was so young himself, and in a little town where everyone knew everybody, he'd known Phillip. Phillip was his nephew's classmate, both at school and at catechism, and baseball teammate, for God's sake – this kind of thing didn't happen here. An older officer pushed him aside and took over – he was calm even though his son was Phillip's age and he'd be drunk for two weeks when it was over. "Phillip Coulson you wake up right now, or I'm gonna tell your mother on you," he said sternly, uselessly, while alternately praying for the paramedics to get there and cursing them for taking so long.

There wasn't even a hospital in Nolan. The ambulance came from Bartram a few miles over, and the doctors at the little hospital there could only pour new blood in his veins and put a very feeble patch on the wounds while they waited on the helicopter to take him to Philadelphia. Phillip spent hours in surgery in Philadelphia and they patched all his wounds and gave him yet more blood, but his intestine was perforated in two places – they started antibiotics immediately, but they did little to help against the infection raging in a body already made fragile by massive wounds. He never regained consciousness, but even in sleep he held the Captain America teddy bear his mother Alice brought for him from home. The infection attacked his lungs, so recently operated on, and they had to put him on a ventilator to breathe. His much older brother Tom and sister Emily – Phillip was a change-of-life baby, and his sister and brother were long grown up and gone – raced back to Pennsylvania from Georgia and California, respectively. His sister got there in time, but his brother didn't. Phillip's heart gave out under the strain of the infection and the fever, and his soul went on to be with his dad a couple of days after the robbery. But the machine was still breathing for him – the doctors explained it was just that machine making him appear alive. Alice decided to wait on Tom, stuck in traffic just fifteen miles away (having been stuck for hours in agonizing traffic), before they turned off the ventilator, and not tell him he was too late, then went to the chapel to pray for the souls of her son and husband. Emily, exhausted by the hellacious drive she'd taken on no sleep, the days of waiting, and now grief, climbed into the bed with her brother, careful not to disturb the equipment supposedly keeping him alive, to hold him one last time, and fell into the kind of sleep only grief can bring, pretending all the while it really was him breathing in and out.

That's when Sigyn carried me to his body – she came in as silently as a mouse, cloaked from nurses and family members by an invisibility spell. She always was a tender soul – and the sight of Phillip Coulson's body looking tinier than ever wrapped up in his big sister's arms, still holding his bear even in death, was too much for her. She wept a little as she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Poor little boy – I know you'll find peace," she whispered. "I know you wouldn't mind, if Fen borrowed your family for a little while, would you? He'll take good care of them, I promise." Did I somehow know the promise she made? Or did I just love them as much as he did?

Sigyn had to be quiet to not disturb Emily – she had to partially heal his body first. She gave him Asgardian medicine that would fight the infection better than anything on Earth, closed some of the incisions so they wouldn't get infected again with a healing stone, and used a spell to strengthen his heart a little. Then the hard part came – restarting his heart while doing extremely complicated magic to put me in. But of course, this is Sigyn we're talking about.

I started awake in his body – with no memories of Asgard but every memory of his. Emily woke when I did, looking down at me in disbelief. I started tugging at the painful ventilator, wanting it out of my throat. She caught my hands gently. "Hold on Philly – nurse! Nurse! Someone get in here!" she screamed, loud enough to wake the dead. "Philly! Thank you Jesus! Sweet Mary Mother of God, thank you," I didn't understand why she was sobbing on my shoulder like that. I wanted to ask her how Dad was but I couldn't talk with the ventilator.

The first nurse to get in just stared at me a while before springing into action – she called a couple other equally shocked nurses and they got the ventilator out. "Emmy – what about Dad?" I asked hoarsely, and that just made her cry harder.

"Philly – we thought we lost you too," she said as she hugged me so tight it hurt my incisions, and I knew Dad was dead and started to cry, which also hurt.

"Did they get Bill Horn?" I asked hoarsely, and my heart beat so fast just at the thought of him that it hurt.

"Yes baby – they went straight to his mama's house and busted him trying to wash the blood away. He's never going to hurt anyone again." And that's when Mom got there – someone must have told her in the halls and she must have just flown.

"_Phillip!_"

"Mom …" I said, in tears, burdened with the mind of a little boy and the memories of something no child should see.

"Thank you Lord, thank you, thank you, thank you," she said over and over again as she went to the other side of the bed and hugged me. Despite being hugged by the two women I loved the most, I felt very alone. I pulled back a little and held my bear – Captain Fuzzy – tight. Phillip hadn't slept with Captain Fuzzy since he was a much smaller child, but I inherited the warmth and safety he got from it. Especially since it was his father who bought it for him … I felt like I was hugging Dad once more as I pressed it against my chest, heedless of the pain. "Thank you Dad," I whispered.

And then I'm back on Asgard with my other father, seeing scene after scene from the happier days of my childhood – even things I was too young to remember. Like me as a tiny newborn cub, climbing into my mother's bed to lick his face and squeak at him with my tiny voice. "Aren't you precious?" he asked and scooped me up, but recoiled when he got a good look at my eyes.

"Don't react like that – they're your eyes," Mother said flippantly.

I chose to walk away from the fight that ensued, instead remembering how she sang me to sleep in my little crib. I know, even as a wolf, I didn't remember her – and that's a shame. I wonder how my life would have been different if she hadn't died … been murdered … there's been a lot of that in both my lives.

And I wandered back to my Earth family – holding sweet little Bobbi for the first time. I was so scared! "Phil – you won't hurt her, I promise," Emily, still soaked in sweat from labor, whispered and I awkwardly put my arms out. She started to fuss as soon as I had her – she sensed my fear. I eagerly gave her back, and everyone laughed, and I didn't mind being the butt of the joke as long as that sweet little baby wasn't in my clumsy pre-teen arms.

By the time Ben was born two years later, I was a baby holding pro, and I held him without fear and even put him to sleep. Bobbi tugged at my pant leg worriedly while I did – she didn't want some punk baby muscling in on her attention from her favorite uncle. "It's okay pumpkin, I didn't forget you," I whispered and handed Ben back to his mom, then leaned down to pick her up. "I could never forget you."

I see her when she was four – she had been living with us for just a few months. It was a punishingly hot day and several families from the neighborhood went to Mom's best friend's house to play in her pool. Bobbi was having a great time, splashing around in the shallow end with her floaties on, until all of a sudden she screamed bloody murder for me to come quick. I did, thinking it was something bad, and so did half the adults present. "Phil! Ladybugs!" she shouted, pointing to a whole cluster of struggling ladybugs in the water at the edge of the pool. "Save them!" She was so upset I didn't hesitate – I scooped them all out as quickly as I could and still be gentle and set them on the side of the pool. Most of them crawled away – they probably died later but at least Bobbi didn't see it – but two of them didn't move. I prodded them with my finger, desperately hoping they'd move, for Bobbi's sake. Of course they didn't. And she started to cry hysterically, demanding to know why God made beautiful things if they were just going to die. Before any of the adults could even act, I scooped her up out of the water, rocked her in my arms, and patted her back. "If nothing ever died … no one could have babies because we'd run out of room. Everything dies eventually – it's not a sad thing. I bet those ladybugs lived a good long life and had lots of babies … Life is worth it."

"But what about Mommy? Didn't she want to be with us anymore?"  
"Honey your mom was sick … she was so sick she would have died soon anyway. She just didn't want to suffer anymore – didn't want you to see her suffering anymore, because she knew how much it hurt you."

"But why do people get cancer?" she asked.

"Well it's because something goes wrong in their DNA and …"  
"But _why_?" she asked.

"I don't understand that Bobbi – no one understands that," I told her softly. "All I know is your mommy was in a lot of pain … and it must have been worse than anything we can imagine to leave you and your brother behind any earlier than she had to, because you are so wonderful. Wherever she is, I know she misses you … I know she's sorry." I didn't know what else to say, so I just kept rocking her and patting her back until she stopped crying.

We stayed to play for a little while – Mom hoped she'd forget to be sad if she stayed a while longer. We stayed until the sun went down and the water started to get cold – even then I practically had to pry Bobbi out of the water. "It's not cold," she insisted as she started to shiver.

"Of course not … but we need to go now," I said as I patted her with a beach towel. "It's almost time for bed and you didn't get a nap today."  
"I'm not tired," she insisted, and then fell asleep while I carried her to the car. I buckled her in to the back seat while Mom fought with Ben's car seat. I got her all buckled in and climbed in the driver's side – my brand new driver's license mostly got put to use driving for Mom when she had bad headaches.

"Phillip … my sweet boy …" she said breathlessly as she climbed in and gave me a strangling hug and kissed me on the cheek.

"Mom," I said, embarrassed, and tried to pull away.

"You were born in the wrong body Phillip – you would have been a wonderful big brother. You'll be a wonderful father some day." I stopped trying to pull away and hugged her back.

"Mom …" I said softly, not knowing what else to say. It was the best complement she could have given me.

"We better drive on home before they wake up – Bobbi will be cranky until you get her in bed," she said, looking out the window and wiping tears from her cheek. She hadn't cried in front of me since we went to Emily's funeral … I know she cried for days in her room, but she never let me see.

And then I see something I couldn't have – that someone watched me. "How is he?" Sigyn asked, standing on tiptoes to look down at the same point as Heimdall, though she couldn't actually see anything without his blessed eyes. "He is becoming a very good man," Heimdall answered with a little smile.

"How old is he now?"  
"In our years … almost a millennia old."

"Already? But he was just the same as nine-hundred two years ago!" she said, but she only seemed mildly surprised. By then she must have been used to it.

"You forget he is a human now, Lady Sigyn – remember when you joined this soul to a body that was only five hundred years old to our eyes?"

"I remember," she said, a little bitterly. "He'll live his life in the blink of an eye."  
"But he will _live_, Lady Sigyn – that is what matters. If only I could show you …" he caught the look in her eye. "I must inform you, Lady Sigyn, that asking me to open the gate for you would violate the Allfather's orders against traveling to Earth."  
"Then I will not ask you to do so," she said slyly, and I knew she knew about at least one of the pathways to Earth Father used to use.

I see a series of scenes of her in the background at the moments that mattered most to me – in the crowd at my high school graduation and induction into S.H.I.E.L.D., strolling across the bridge near where we took photos at my wedding, going back and forth several times in a way to not attract attention, a face in the crowd during my first mission and several after that …

And as a S.H.I.E.L.D. coroner at an empty morgue, slowly opening the drawer I was in and trying not to let her tears fall on me, cursing Father with pungent words I didn't think she knew and having to stop herself from grasping my hand. "Geez lady – you know this guy?" a janitor asked, sticking his head in. She jumped in fright.

"I … I did," she answered when she collected herself, wiping her tears and closing me back in that cold metal drawer. "He was um … he was my ex-brother-in-law, we remained on good terms even after I left his brother," she said, which was a good enough lie for the janitor.

"Didn't mean to disturb you – take all the time you need to say goodbye," he said softly and shut the door. Since someone had seen her anyway, she opened the drawer and went ahead and put her hand on mine.

It was after Stark built his suit, but before Thor landed when Mom passed away. Tom, Bobbi, and I went through her things – it took a long while. She was very much a child of the Depression – she never threw anything out unless she absolutely had to. "Oh hey, look at this," Tom said as he thumbed through some of the drawings Mom kept from her children and grandchildren. "Is this the picture that gave Sister Agatha a conniption fit?" he asked with a little laugh.

"I think so," I said, taking it and examining it one more time. It's mostly scribbles, but shows a blond woman and a brown-headed man in front of a preacher with hearts around their heads.

"What did you guys find?" Bobbi asked, looking up from the books she was sorting. Tom and I both laughed at the face she made when he handed it to her. "I can't believe she kept that," she said, annoyed.

"Why wouldn't she want to keep it?" Tom asked, and she braced herself for teasing. "Every grandmother dreams of being able to train her daughter-in-law to her specifications …"

"I hate you," Bobbi said sharply, turning bright red. But even so she laughed a little.

"Come on, you were four. It was cute," I said quickly, jumping in to keep the peace. "She probably kept it just to spite Sister Agatha … be glad she didn't frame it."

That bled easily and naturally into the first time I ever saw the picture. Bobbi ran up to Mom, crying, from Bible class and I bent down to pick her up but she wouldn't even look at me. "Barbie? What's wrong sweetie pie?" Mom asked, just as the old witch emerged from the classroom.

"Can I speak with you Mrs. Coulson?" she asked in her harsh voice, and Mom nodded, bewildered, and we stepped into the classroom. I glimpsed the picture sitting on the table, and thought it was cute. Bobbi's art was getting more detailed, the way it does when kids grow up, and I liked it when she drew pictures for me. I always let her tell me about it first so I didn't guess wrong about what it was and hurt her feelings.

"Maybe the boy should step outside," she said, like I wasn't there.

"I'll go pull the car around," I said and left, taking the hint. In life, I only heard about what happened afterwards, in death I got to see it.

"Well this is cute …" Mom said picking up the picture.

"Ask your granddaughter who the people are," Sister Agatha said harshly. Bobbi buried her face in Mom's hip and wouldn't answer, so the old crone gave a heavy sigh and explained what had earned her ire. "She says that she is the woman and the man is _your son._" Mom laughed out loud. "What on Earth is funny about …"  
"I thought it was something serious," Mom cut her off. "This is adorable. We just went to her cousin's wedding and Phillip caught the garter …"

"What could ever be 'adorable' about this unholy desire for her close relative?"  
"Barbie why don't you go play outside with the other kids?" Mom asked. Bobbi took off. As soon as the door closed, Mom spoke. "Oh for God's sake – she's four. Didn't you ever have a crush on a relative when you were too little to know better?" Sister Agatha was stone silent – I don't think she was ever young. "It's not … you're the one with a sinful mind, to think that of a four-year-old," Mom said harshly, seeing how unyielding she was. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Seeing the worst in everyone and making a sweet little girl cry over nothing?"

"She says she sleeps in _his bed._"  
"When there's a thunderstorm, her and her brother both do – they're afraid of thunder. Her mother _died _during a rainstorm …"  
"By her own hand," the old nun said harshly. We all knew she thought Emily was in Hell.

"Bobbi found the body. Phillip puts them back in their own beds once they're sound asleep, but they need him to make them feel safe. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Terrorizing a suffering child over something so innocent … instead of looking for witches to burn, maybe learn a little bit of love and compassion. I'll be very sorry for you on the Judgment Day, Sister Agatha – I don't think anyone would measure up under your standards." Definitely the classiest way to tell someone to go to Hell. With that she turned on her heel and stormed out. It was a huge scandal, in the church and in the rest of the town. Everyone talked about it for weeks. And almost everyone came down on Mom's side – even if they'd never dare say it anywhere it might get back to Sister Agatha and affect their standing at Bingo night.

The "memories" really started to go off the rails then – I saw Phillip as a baby, his parents meeting cute in a café where his mother worked as a waitress, the graduations and dances I missed in Bobbi's life, Bobbi meeting Barton (in her lab, she was checking him out in his uniform and he didn't notice), scenes from Whitney, Melinda, and Audrey's childhoods, pictures of Johnny's sad early life on the compound, Jasper spitting blood in a bathroom at the academy, tiny Clint Barton shooting squirrels and hoping none of his classmates somehow find out he and his brother are eating the squirrels they catch to survive, Romanov and her husband, even Stark and Cap (Stark trying to get his dad to play baseball and settling for smashing a window to get negative attention instead, pre-transformation Cap getting pounded in an alley) …

And Uncle Thor wandering the woods outside the royal city, calling for Father. "Loki! It's settled – the man is gone, Father isn't angry anymore! Loki!" He was young then … so young … barely more than a boy …

He came upon a tall black horse in a clearing, sleek with sweat and trembling, laying on the ground in a manner not common to horses. "Loki, are you all right?" No response from the young shapeshifter. "Loki … what happened?" he asked, to no avail. Father wouldn't even look up from the ground. "Loki, what … oh." He knew. He was awkwardly silent a moment – what exactly do you say about that? He went to sit by his brother, throwing an arm over the mare's shoulders. "I won't speak a word of it to anyone," he said softly and stroked the mare's silky black coat, ignoring the froth of sweat. "It's all right … you'll be all right …" he said tenderly as he did, exhibiting more gentleness than I'd ever seen from him …

Until he stroked my blood-soaked fur in death, trying in vain to comfort Father. The scene I saw first. "He's at peace, now, Loki," he repeated. "He's not suffering anymore."

"I know. We should take him – quickly. People are upset … we won't have privacy for long."

"Right. Do you think we can carry him, between us?"

"We'll have to," Father said stubbornly.

"I'll get help," Uncle Thor said with a sigh and walked away.

Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif helped Father and Thor carry my body down to the harbor. Only true friends would help a man carry a giant dead wolf without even knowing said wolf is his nephew – I carry none of Father's disdain towards the Warriors Three. Sigyn and Grandmother follow. They laid me down at the bay and Father started to build my pyre while Grandmother kneeled by me and tried to comb out my fur. Sigyn brought her water from the bay in a pail in an attempt to clean away the dried blood. Sif tried to carry an armful of branches for Father but he snapped at her to leave it. She did as he said and dropped the branches where she stood – but she slapped him in the face and walked away. She kneeled by me and started helping Grandmother clean me up, a womanly task she normally would have objected to. Her tears fell onto my fur as she worked, and she refused to look up lest anyone but Sigyn could see them fall. Sigyn looked more miserable than anyone – because she, of course, knew the truth. Father didn't want Uncle Thor to help either – when Thor went to his aid, he snapped at him too. "He was my son."

"Do you think you're the only one who loved him?" Thor demanded. "He was my nephew, Loki!" Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral didn't react to this – they had probably started to suspect. Father and Uncle Thor's devotion to me would have been worrying for masters to a pet.  
"And he saved my life," Sif cut in sharply, standing up at her place at my side.

"You can't carry this by yourself, Loki," Thor pleaded, presumably referring to more than the pyre, and Father just nodded, presumably consenting to their help, but kept his eyes down, refusing to look at them as they worked.

Before long, they had the pyre built, there in the dead of night since they dared not wait until morning, and, again with some help, Thor and Loki placed my body on it. The prayers were said, and Father, after one last embrace, stepped back a little to light the pyre. "Fare thee well, nephew," Thor said softly.

"Goodbye Uncle Phil," Bobbi said softly, putting a hand on the empty coffin. Of course, she didn't realize it was empty – S.H.I.E.L.D. told her it was bad enough that the family should have a closed casket funeral, and that she didn't want to remember me that way. Clint put his arm over her shoulder. He helped her get back to the seat in the front, with Tom and Audrey. Bobbi leaned on Clint the whole time and he held her tight – there were tears in his eyes too. My soul wanted to touch the two women most important in my life, to comfort them, but of course it's just a memory.

Whitney and her son … Dylan, a sweet boy, who looks just like her but with the professor's dark curly hair and dark brown eyes … sat in the back. She listened to the eulogies and cried, while Dylan didn't understand quite why they were there. His mom was honest with him … she told him she'd been married once, that I was her husband and she still missed me sometimes - hence all the pictures. He just didn't know what that had to do with him.

Cap was there – even in Hel, I fanboyed a little – in a black suit that could have come from the forties. Maybe it did. He was quiet and solemn, with his head bowed for most of the service. He was there with the other Avengers, except Clint who was in the front and Thor, in Asgard. Pepper was with Stark – I knew she'd miss me more than she'd ever tell Stark, lest she make him jealous. We used to talk a lot … maybe if it weren't for both of us seeing other people …

Stark was really shaken. Much more than I expected – it's almost touching. He took a swig out of a flask before he headed into the church, and the whole service he fidgeted nervously. Was he sorry for being such a pain? Maybe.

Fury was very conspicuously not there.

Melinda didn't cry during the service, but my soul followed her home. She shut the door, went to her sofa and sat down heavily, bowed her head and wept.

And yes, Sigyn was there – dressed in a simple black dress like what mortals wore. When asked who she was, she introduced herself as someone who went to my Earth mother's church who'd met me several times in the last years of her life – that way she wouldn't get caught out by anyone. They surely wondered why she wept so for a man she must have barely known, but after all she cared enough to show up so it wasn't _that _suspicious – they just thought she was a tenderhearted Christian, the kind that wept at sermons and sent letters to everyone on the prayer list.

And all alone on Asgard, Thor knelt by the bay in the royal city, and offered a prayer to his niece to help my soul get to whatever afterlife it belonged to, not knowing he prayed for his own nephew.

Thor … the only one I knew in both lives. My only unfaltering ally. How I wanted to comfort him, to tell him who I was all along …

And then the memories became desires – anything I wanted, whenever I wanted it.

Sometimes that's running through the woods, with all the power and grace of my wolfen body, exalting in the thrill of the hunt as deer and bears fall swiftly under my massive jaws. Lor is my queen and we have dozens of cubs – they're beautiful like her and strong like me. I let them wrestle each other and let them wrestle me to the ground and play at being defeated – but only if the omegas aren't looking.

Sometimes it's Whitney coming to me and confessing about the French guy before it ever went anywhere, and that unpleasantness ended with a nasty fight and mindblowing make-up sex (in the laundry room, of all places) instead of infidelity and divorce. I get off that plane from Guyana and it's my baby she's carrying, Steven David Coulson, who eventually has a little sister, Danielle Alice Coulson, and they both look like their mother (thankfully) but I never doubt they're mine. I tell them I love them every day – Whitney teases me about my willingness to tell them how I feel when I've told her not nearly often enough. I argue that they're kids who need to hear it every day, but in her case paying to store her stuffed animals while we were in DC was evidence enough. She doesn't like this answer, and once again we fight but this time the make-up sex has to be quiet in case the kids wake up – we don't want them to hear us. It becomes a running gag that I buy her something related to her stuffed animals every anniversary, until she gets tired of it and tells me off. We send the kids off to college and grow old together, like we were supposed to.

Sometimes I buy the ring I looked at so long and take that retirement package, and get a job as a high school principal in Portland. I propose on the trip Audrey and I took together … conspicuously uninterrupted by Loki. Bobbi teases that we should have a double ceremony but of course we don't … we just go to the courthouse one day, at Audrey's insistence even though I'd pay for anything she wanted. A few years later Audrey and I adopt, just like we talked about that one time – we keep the name Casey's birth mother picked for her, because we might as well let the tiny blond keep the only thing her mother gave her when she left her in the hospital. Casey was born completely blind, but she can do everything other kids can do and more – including scare me half to death climbing on things. Half the time I come home from school to find Audrey worriedly lifting her down from the back of the sofa or one of the cabinets (we have never figured out how she gets there), and I tease her she'll be Daredevil some day. She loves to hear her mother play – even when we first bring her home, as a tiny six-month-old baby, she has an affinity for it. Every time Audrey practices, Casey falls silent and listens intently, and I go and hold her in my lap we're both just completely enchanted by it, and I fall in love with her mother all over again. I'd say I love my students like my own children but that's not even close to true – I'd do anything for my wife and daughter.

Sometimes, I'm brave enough to ask May to dinner, on an actual date and not as just friends, and of course since it's a dream it only goes well. Our son, Jacob, is all kinds of trouble – he loves his "uncle" John and his personality is so much like his I tease John I should sue for paternity. "The way he looks at the car like he wants to make love to it … that's your DNA test right there," John shoots back. Jacob loves Lola and has to be bribed not to try to steal my keys and drive her with an absolutely perfect model replica that he takes with him everywhere – even to bed, like some kids would a teddy bear. Melinda gets onto him not to take it to bed every day, only to find him sleeping with it when she wakes him up for school the next morning, and she gets put out for a second and then just shakes her head and laughs – it's the only time he doesn't mind her, so she can't be too angry.

Sometimes I'm a boy again, on Earth or Asgard. Once or twice Father even discovers the spell he looked for all those years, and I see the tears of joy on his face as he sees me in the form of a boy for the first time – a dark headed, blue eyed boy in his own image. "Fen … you're so beautiful!" he says breathlessly as he puts his hands on either side of my face.

"I'm naked," I complain, being a little boy who doesn't quite understand what the big deal is with my new form, and awkwardly try to cover my human nakedness. Since I am a little boy who's spent most of his life as a wolf, this means mostly putting my hands over my chest – nipples don't go there!

"Yes … yes … I'll have the servants bring clothes. Clothes! Ha!" I don't understand his complete and utter joy over this, and it scares me a little. Jorg doesn't mind being naked – he's even littler than me. He only looks very confused and starts to cry – Father picks him up and kisses him, smiling despite the fact his crying is loud and grating. Uncle Thor knocks at the door. "Did it work?" he calls.

"Come in and see!" Father calls, but Thor must know from his tone and Jorg's cries, and he almost breaks the door down in his eagerness to get in and see us. He laughs wildly and scoops me up, and spins me around. "Look at you! Fen! You're … you're a real boy!"  
"I want clothes," I say insistently, still not understanding the significance of this moment, and he laughs heartily and gives me a big kiss on the cheek, and his beard scratches my newly hairless skin. "Of course you do!" he cries out and gives me a hug so tight I think he'll crush me.

"I want clothes!" I cry more insistently, and even the threat of imminent tantrum doesn't dampen the adults' spirits.

I live an eternity in dozens of different possibilities, and on the rare occasion I'm not dreaming I'm at my sister's side – I sprawl out, a massive wolf, behind her throne and look intimidating to the wicked souls about to meet their much less pleasant fate, though I'd never dream of interfering in her rule. "It's really a shame – I had such plans for you, Odin-Bane," she tells me once. It's the third of fourth time she's referred to me as such.  
_I don't know why you call me that._

"You would have, had you lived much longer." She's always frustratingly vague, but then again we have eternity for me to badger her into more details.

With no warning, everything fades to black. I feel like I'm being pushed through a sieve – I can't describe the horribleness of the sensation – and then all I know is pain. Pain radiates from every conceivable part of my tiny, fragile, breakable, bleeding, torn body. "Sister! No! Don't do this to me! Don't abandon me!" I scream at the top of my lungs – which is hard to do since I'm fairly certain my lungs are still torn to shreds. Only I hear it in Asgardian … and somehow I don't understand it. If I didn't say it, I wouldn't know what I meant. "Sister! Please!"

"Who ordered this?" a doctor asks, horrified.

"Please!" I beg him in English, which feels more natural. "Please let me die!" I beg urgently. There's still time to retreat back to that paradise, where I am loved and accepted, one way or another, and where there is no pain. Pain that even now is threatening to overwhelm me – pain so intense I'd be begging for death even if death were oblivion.

"Listen to him!" the doctor pleads.

"Can't – we have orders from Director Fury himself."

And then everything goes blank, and I forget everything I saw.

All that I know is pain, all I understand is pain. Pain and a deep, deep loss I can't grasp.

* * *

**Author's Note**

My inspiration for this story was a WMG by Dracia V which was found on the WMG page for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. on tvtropes, in the Asgard section if you're interested in looking (I would link it here but does that truncating thing). Basically, her theory (which was posted fairly early in season one) was that the binding of Fenrir, which happens in mythology after he attacks Tyr, was in this case to be bound in a human body like Thor during his solo movie, and Coulson either didn't remember this or was covering it up very well.

This was a pretty out there theory, but … to me it made a terrible sense. There was no reason for Coulson to ask Loki to step away before just using the Thorbuster, given that he was an imminent danger to Thor and everyone else on the ship, and it may not have been sporting to just fire without warning but Coulson always struck me as a combat pragmatist who wouldn't really care about being sporting when the stakes were that high. But it would make sense for him to hesitate if, consciously or subconsciously, he knew that he was holding a gun on his father.

I was so struck by the tragedy of that possibility – of a father unknowingly murdering his own son – that I just _had _to write a story around it.

So yes, here is your explanation for the whammy I hit you with last time. And no Coulson's not going to remember most of it. But you will … so have that in mind as things progress. Dramatic irony.

Believe it or not this was actually even more mind-numbingly long and detailed and I cut it down quite a bit.

Also … cutesy Elektra complex fun with little Bobbi because this story wasn't Freudian enough yet after Loki threatening to castrate Fen.

Side note: Phil naming one of his sons Jacob is a subconscious connection between his two lives … everyone brings up Cain and Abel while talking about Thor and Loki but the Biblical brothers I find a much more apt parallel are Esau and Jacob. (Jacob even means "deceiver" in Hebrew and the tension between them came up because Esau kept getting tricked by Jacob, and Esau eventually forgave Jacob for it the same way Thor keeps reaching out to Loki.) So in a way, even as a human, he names a kid after his Asgardian father. Sort of.


	16. Chapter 15: Wasted Vengeance (Tony)

Chapter 15

Wasted Vengeance

Tony

No matter what Fury's goon squad is telling me, I know what I saw and heard. And I'm _pissed._ And drunk. Which in British slang pissed is drunk so I guess I'm pissed on either side of the pond.

For all I know he really was dead – I watched him break a magic barrier by putting his hands on it, I'm guessing he has magic of his own. Which … how in the hell did things reach the point where I think about people having magic and magical attacks and whether or not that magic means they can come back from the dead?

I tinker with a suit, not really seeing anything, while images run through my head. Trading cards soaked in blood tossed out on a table, a closed-casket funeral because supposedly Loki tore him in half. A crying girlfriend whose world had ended, a sobbing niece, and a solemn, much older brother lamenting being the only one left, how unfair it was his two little siblings, even the one he could have been father to, went before him … Did they know? Was that an act? Or are S.H.I.E.L.D. just such a bunch of assholes they put his family through hell too?

There's a knock on the door. I nod to Jarvis's visual sensors, and the door opens. It's Bruce and Rogers – the former looking unusually timid and Rogers looking detached. "So … you know Agent Coulson is alive," Rogers says calmly, and I know from his tone he knew already. I grip the screwdriver I'm holding so tight my knuckles go white – I barely resist the urge to throw it at him.

"How did you know?" I ask.

"It was known to anyone with level 7 or higher clearance in S.H.I.E.L.D.," he says evenly. Which includes Romanov.

"Does that include his family?" I demand – I want to know that.

"Not in the first six weeks, no," Rogers says. "But after that, yes – his niece and brother were informed, and he's been in contact with them." But not his girlfriend … tough shit for her I guess.

"I assume Barton found out from his wife," I say coldly.

"Well … Coulson gave her away at their wedding …" he says, and for the first time he looks apologetic. Now I know why I wasn't invited even though I offered to pay for the whole thing. I curse hard and creatively.

"Are Bruce and I the only ones who didn't know he was alive before today?" I demand. An awkward silence falls over the workshop.

"… actually …" Bruce starts apologetically, and I really do throw the screwdriver. Not at him – at the opposite wall, but still. He cringes and so does Rogers. "It was when I was working on interpreting the recorded energy signals from the Tesseract … I may have … accidentally opened a file I wasn't supposed to and saw his name on a recent action report. And then maybe opened another medical file on him out of curiosity." And then I'm proud of him – I can never be mad at him for long.

"Was he at any point ever actually dead?" I ask Rogers.

"For a few minutes, on the operating table," he answers, still being overly professional. "They had to restart his heart and he was in a coma for a while … they weren't sure if he'd have permanent brain damage from the time when his heart was stopped, which would have affected what they could do since he had a living will for such a circumstance. When he woke up with no such signs of damage, he was sent for recovery in Tahiti and returned six weeks later."

"So I guess Fury was only half-lying then," I say bitterly, and pull the cork out of another bottle of wine and I don't even bother to pour it in a glass.

"Tony, I think you've had enough already," Bruce says in weak protest. I take a big swig in response.

"Stark – I'm sorry this had to be kept from you," Rogers says.  
"Had to?" I demand, turning to face him and almost stumbling.

"Yes it was imperative that …"  
"You don't really believe that do you?" Bruce cuts in, pleasantly surprising me again. "If they just fibbed to you to motivate you to get it together and go after Loki, why keep it quiet after he recovered and came home long after the aliens were gone? I mean … they didn't even tell you, you found out on accident because of your clearance, and I only found out by accident over a year later. Something worse is at play there."

"Like what?" Steve asks skeptically. "You think they … what, brought him back from the dead?"

"Of course not, but maybe they did some … less than ethical experiments to bring him out of the coma, or even before he was ever attacked. The file I saw had some very hinky-looking medical notations … implants and drugs none of my biologist friends have even heard rumors about. And that's not even getting into the fact his heart was torn almost in half, along with several rather important arteries and veins, and his right lung totally collapsed – I'm surprised he didn't die instantly, and utterly shocked he managed to live. Loki's intent was surely to kill him quickly – even he was probably surprised he lingered. Instead he not only survives, but goes for six weeks recovery and is on full field duty six months later? Like I said … hinky."

"I thought you said you saw the file for about two minutes," Rogers says indignantly.

"I can read five hundred twenty words a minute with eighty-five percent comprehension and high retention," Bruce answer nonchalantly, with no hint of smugness to that impressive skill. "Which was more than long enough to know something was very off about it." To my surprise, Rogers doesn't chew him out or try to argue with him – he stands there in silence a while and rolls his head, popping his neck. My massage therapist could take care of that for him … and probably some other things too. He's got to be like the oldest virgin in history if you count the years he was on ice … which of course I do, because I'm a jerk like that.

"What's the matter Rogers? Is it starting to sink in now how stupid it was to go signing up with the world police?" I ask bitterly. He doesn't answer, but I know the answer is yes when he turns to Bruce.

"Exactly how worried did it make you that your friends hadn't heard of anything you described to them?" he asks.

"On a scale of one to ten, one being Betty's a couple of minutes late and ten being rogue neutron star headed to Earth? Which I'm also not entirely sure S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't hiding …" Rogers glares at him, and Bruce shrugs. "I don't know. Four. In conjunction with the injuries he shouldn't have survived … five, maybe five point five …"  
"Okay, I get the point," Rogers says curtly. "Something's rotten in S.H.I.E.L.D. I've … known that a while now."  
"Told you," I say after taking another swig.  
"Your dad founded it."  
"Not as reassuring as you think it is," I say.

"What do you think they did to him?" Rogers asks.

"I couldn't begin to speculate …" We both look at him. "But if I had to take a wild guess, I'd guess they infused him with a little taste of the serum that they gave you, at some point prior to the attack."

"Really? Didn't that make you grow like a foot?" I ask Rogers, surprised that's Bruce's theory. Coulson was like … average. (Okay, fine, short – he was shorter than me I swear.)

"Yeah … but that serum was lost …"  
"But they took your blood. If they were able to replicate it even partially, it would explain how he lived long enough to even get medical intervention. But that's just spit balling – there's a number of other possibilities, even just dumb luck he held on as long as he did. Like I said it's … what they did after that concerns me. I mean, a robotic heart valve and stem cell based lung repair is nothing that surprising all though I wish they'd release that to the public – it could save and improve innumerable lives and the money from the patent alone could probably make a dent in the national deficit or be funded back to research …"

"Bruce? Some of us are engineers," I cut in. "And some of us have been on ice since before DNA was discovered."  
"Sorry … some of it was advanced but not too surprising but … they rebuilt his ribcage and sternum from a metallic material I've never heard of and none of my colleagues have heard of, fixed the nick in his spinal column with some kind of synthetic-bone material no one's heard of, of and performed several surgical procedures none of my biology friends could identify even when they consulted an MD, most worryingly including a description of some kind of brain surgery that was, to put it crassly, fairly butt puckering even in vague description. It involved sawing off the top of his skull and attaching electrodes, while he was semi-conscious."  
"His brain? Why would they do anything to his brain?" Rogers asked. He's got his arms crossed over his chest and as Bruce talks, he leans against the wall. He's trying to look relaxed but it does the opposite – I know this conversation scares him. Especially the skull sawing – he cringed at that. So did I.

"My guess … he was brain damaged by lack of oxygen when his heart stopped, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had surgeons on hand who could do … whatever the hell that was to reverse it. Which admittedly does fit the official story. I'm not prone to being afraid of advancements, obviously, and this could be a huge breakthrough for preventing permanent damage by hypoxic and anoxic brain injuries if indeed that's what happened but …"  
"This scared you," Rogers cuts him off, and I know the fact Bruce is scared scares him.  
"Yes. Deeply. Especially since it's apparently classified to the nth degree. And … that's not even the worst part. There were several mentions of drugs which none of my contacts can correlate to anything even in animal testing … and several things they really shouldn't have been using in a living person."  
"Like what?" Rogers asks.  
"Embalming fluid." Rogers visibly flinches and I almost fall off my work bench – maybe "back from the dead" wasn't such a stupid theory after all. Either way … makes me a little queasy.

"Wouldn't that be … toxic?" I ask. "Like … really toxic?"  
"Fatally toxic. Which explains why they did simultaneous dialysis and supportive measures for acute formaldehyde and methanol poisoning during surgery, followed by a full blood transfusion about two hours after surgery. I can't emphasize enough that he should be dead." I'm starting to get a very sick feeling about what they did to Coulson – I'm almost not mad at him for hiding from me. "It might help if I could read the whole file again …"  
"I'll get it for you," Rogers says without hesitation, which pleasantly surprises me – tonight is a good night.

"Steve, that's …" Bruce starts, horrified.

"You said it could help, I'll get it."  
"I was trying to hint at Tony to hack it," Bruce says and looks up at me expectantly like he expected me to have it already. Which wouldn't be far off if I were sober right now.

"I'll get it – they won't suspect me," Steve says again. I like him better than I thought, I think. "I'll get his recent action reports too – maybe we can find him to talk to him in person."

"We're just … not going to talk about what happened in LA?" Bruce asks, finally putting that topic on the table.

"Is it possible the magical abilities he displayed contributed to his survival?" Rogers asks. I want to be him – able to ask about magic and make it sound so matter-of-fact.

"It's not mentioned in the report that I saw … but frankly it seems like an extremely plausible option." My world is upside down where "magic" is the most plausible explanation. Even though it's likely not really magic – just a combination of innate abilities and in some cases advanced tech we don't understand yet. But magic works fine for us primitive humans – a flashlight would have seemed like magic even to Newton and Galileo. "And might explain why they did it – if they knew he was magic he might be too valuable an asset to let die. I assume there's a division of S.H.I.E.L.D. that deals exclusively with this?"

"Sort of … most of the high-level people look into people with unusual powers … most of them aren't really anything, and the most impressive thing I've seen from anyone on Earth, present company excepted, is … not that impressive. Things like being able to move things with their mind and light stuff on fire at extremely close range," Rogers explains. Poor guy … my world has changed so much since all this started, I can't imagine what it's like for him. At least he woke up to vaccines and the Internet … actually scratch the latter, he's probably terrified of the Internet. And TV, for that matter. Actually, now that I think about it I want to watch _Game of Thrones_ with him and see how he reacts to profanity, nudity, sex, and graphic violence in media. And tape it to share with the Internet. I might even look past the reinforcement of stereotypes and go for _The Sopranos _just to get a laugh at how his generation pronounced "Italian."

"It's so nice you think I'm supernatural," I say.

"You know what I meant Stark," he says sharply. "The point is … I haven't seen anything that could explain Coulson surviving … that. It's why I want to talk to him."  
"You think he knows? It took him a long time to even try to break that barrier," Bruce says, which is a creepy, creepy point. Maybe they haven't even told him what's up with him … otherwise I'm not sure why he'd leave his injured pregnant niece and a whole bunch of scared professors bleeding and choking on smoke until the last possible minute. Maybe it took time to … I don't know. Charge up.

"So we're … we're in this? Mission Find Out What the Hell Happened to Coulson?" I ask.

"I'm in if you are," Bruce says, and I smile at him.

"I'll do what I can," Rogers says. I do like him better than I thought. I so want to do that _Game of Thrones _thing … that will be a funny YouTube video. Guaranteed to go viral with me in it.

"I can see if I can hack beyond Rogers' clearance," I say, and start typing something on the laptop I'd brought down with me but I hit the wrong keys every time. Rogers and Bruce watch me peck at the keys for an awkward minute before Bruce hurriedly walks to my side and gently pulls the laptop away from me.

"Uh … tomorrow," he says softly.

"I'm fine …" I insist grumpily – I'm not a lightweight.

"Banner's used to cleaning up after drunks – I'd take his advice," Rogers says sharply. I don't like him after all, especially when I see Bruce flinch at the reference to the thing about Bruce's childhood we must never mention. I start to call Rogers out on it but I catch what I just typed – it's total trash. I'm too drunk to use an Apple right now, let alone type intricate code to hack a federal agency. They're right … not that I'm going to admit it.

"I'll just … cool off a little, tonight. Because I'm still angry about … about him being alive, and everything. I need to … you know chill, get the anger out of my system."  
"Yeah, the anger," Rogers mutters but I let it go – I don't feel like getting in a fight with a super soldier tonight.

"Anyway – Operation Find Out What the Hell Happened to Coulson commences tomorrow," I say, a little more steadily even though I still hear myself slurring.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Bruce agrees encouragingly.

"Tomorrow," Rogers agrees, his voice softening a little.

Tomorrow we're going to work together again – still drawn together by the same guy. I'm sure I can find something poetic in that … tomorrow.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So sorry for the delay! I have been super busy with school and job hunt, plus I've started writing a lot of Star Trek fanfiction. I'm not sure why I ever though having six works-in-progress was a good idea.

American pronunciation note: Cap's generation pronounced Italian with a long I (as in "I, Robot") instead of a short I (as in "inner") like today. I always thought it was just my grandmother until I heard some tapes of older people talking about their experiences in World War II. You can also hear it in the NCIS episode with the old Medal of Honor winner. Also my headcanon is Tony's mom was Italian-American. It's not important but there it is.

Also I use Apple so obviously no hostility there. But they are known for being more user-friendly and therefore more often used by people who aren't that great with computers (that includes me) and a lot of people who are good with computers look down on them for that reason (but Mac users are the snobs, I guess) and Tony absolutely would be one of those people.


	17. Chapter 16: Revelations (Coulson)

Chapter 16

Revelations

Coulson

"What … what did you say?" I ask, stunned. The paramedics are trying to put a sedative in an IV for me now, sure I'm hallucinating.

_You don't remember, of course – but I've been waiting, all along, for you to call on me._

"No … I … I have my birth certificate for God's sake … I'm not …" She places her hands on me – one on my head and one on my chest, and suddenly, I see flashes of another life. Just enough to make me believe it – I remember being a little wolf (well, a young one, anyway) and I remember Uncle Thor and how much I loved him … most of all I remember the suffering of my last days on Asgard. And I see, probably because she lets me, Grandmother and Grandfather working together to take my soul from my wolf body and giving it to Sigyn to carry to Earth – I see how she cries when she carries my soul to Earth to a dead little boy, how Grandmother cries when she sees my empty wolf body. I remember waking up in Phillip's body, remembering I was once a wolf for the briefest moment – until that faded and I was only aware of the memories stored in his brain. I see Sigyn asking after me at the rainbow bridge when it's safe, how Father and Uncle Thor mourned for me, the former bitterly so, how even Heimdall cringed as he watched them bring my human body back to life after … after my father impaled me.

"You … you're why I came back. You sent me back," I say bitterly, just before the sedative takes effect.

_I wish you hadn't had to suffer, little brother. But I still have plans for you, I'm afraid. _That sounds … ominous. _Just trust me that I don't mean to harm you – only to let you choose your own path. _Somehow, that still sounds ominous. Even so, I feel safe when she holds my hand while I fall asleep.

* * *

I wake up in the hospital. I'm still dizzy, and for a moment I hope that I just had a horrible nightmare. But then I remember the taste of Aesir flesh as clearly as anything, and I know it wasn't. It makes my mouth water. Unlike the flashes I saw when she first touched me, I remember my whole life as a wolf. I remember I _am _a wolf.

"You're awake," a familiar voice says, and I sit up so fast my head spins, and I try to pull out my IV so I can get to him. He is responsible for my suffering – well, on Earth anyway. To my shock and horror, I have to stop myself from growling. "I figured that would be your reaction," Fury says calmly – of course he's calm. He could take me even on my best day, let alone now when I'm still coughing up ash and barely conscious … and suddenly occupied by another mind entirely. I push Fenrir's thoughts away as best I can … it's easy enough when the man who brought Coulson the man so much pain is here.

"_Why?_" I plead.

"Coulson … I never asked this, but what happened just now prompts the question – what do you know about Asgard?" he asks, ignoring the question. I think about how I can play this – even in my fuzzy state, I know I have a high hand here.

"Tell me why you brought me back first," I demand. "And tell me what that creature was in the tank."  
"We don't know – the remains were salvaged from a crash in the Pacific Ocean. As for why – well that's connected, you see. We've been tracking strange energy signatures for over half the century – we had one locked down long before Thor came to Earth. Once he did, we knew what that signature was – the signature of an Asgardian taking the Bifrost to Earth. Tracing it back, one such surge happened the night you made a miraculous recovery."

"So you've known all along I had an alien connection. Is that why you picked me right out of high school?" I demand bitterly. The wolf wonders if humans taste like Aesir, but I push that thought away in disgust.

"No – I would have just watched you. But you were smart and coolheaded, and you passed the entrance exams with flying colors, and I knew you'd be a good agent if you didn't remember … and an even better agent if you did."

"What do you have planned for me?" I ask, still trying to decide how I'm going to play it, steeling myself to lie to him.

"A madman came to Earth and brought another species from clear across the galaxy and came perilously close to subjugating us, and this was his second attack on Earth. A year and a half later, a different alien race landed in London and was only stopped by an Asgardian. A woman with mind control powers from this same planet wrought havoc all across New Mexico, including molesting one of your team members. And now a pack of giant damn wolves just went on a rampage through most of the northern United States, Portland, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. I need eyes on Asgard."

"So you brought me back just because I was the only one with an Asgard connection?"

"Not only that," he says. "You're the best man I have right now, Coulson," he says, and I almost want to believe he's sincere.

"That's why you drove me insane?" I ask bitterly. "I was at peace – wherever I was. I was at peace." Somehow, considering I'd been murdered by my own father. It hurts the wolf so deeply to imagine that that tears come to my eyes. _Father, no! _I think in terror, remembering that moment. Fury looks at me suspiciously – he's never seen me cry, but my cheeks are damp now. I don't try to play it off – I have no idea how to do so.

"For that, I'm truly sorry – but I still needed you, more than any other agent. And I knew if it would work on anyone, it was the boy who'd already come back from the dead once." That … makes my skin crawl.  
"I'll go to Asgard," I say when I'm calm enough to speak.

"Take Skye with you," he suggests. "Use her to get your foot in the door."  
"Why Skye?" I ask, puzzled.

"She _is _Loki's daughter – I'd have thought you'd have found that out by now," he says.

That hits me somewhere deep inside, both in the wolf and the man.

"_What_?" I ask in a harsh whisper.  
"She has roughly fifty percent of his DNA … so she's either a full sibling or a child of his, and she doesn't appear to have the same physical capabilities as Thor so I settled on child." I must have known subconsciously as soon as I met her, but I didn't understand it consciously. "Do you know anything about the nature of your connection, Coulson?" he asks, and his eye bores into mine, searching me. But he trained me – he should know by now I can lie damn well when I have to.

"I don't know much sir … all I know is I was one of Loki's bastards too," I say roughly. I don't play the whole hand – he doesn't need to know which bastard I am. Or how much he cared for me. All though when he compares my DNA to Skye's, assuming he hasn't already, it's not going to match – I need to divulge that part. "And I died there … and my grandparents and one of his friends stuffed me in this body when the real Phil Coulson died, to extend my life, and give me a good life away from him. I've always only had my human memories. After what happened yesterday, I started to get flashes." Did I know that Loki was my father, on some level? Is that why I hesitated to shoot Loki when I had the chance?! "One of my sisters watches over me … she's the reason I've had such good luck, for the most part. She helped in the fire … she used her magic to break the barrier. I don't know who set us up to die, I guess that's mission one. I'll go – I'll be your eyes on Asgard, if you give me everything you have on the recovered alien," I say, pretending to be over being angry. _And I still don't trust you, so I'll sneak around up there and find out what you're hiding from me about the humanoid in the tank._ I add in my head. _They'll know more than me. And then come rip you a new one with whatever lie I catch you in when I do._

"That seems fair," he says evenly. "When will you be ready to go?"  
"I don't know, when do the doctors say I can leave the hospital?"

"Two days."

"And what about Bobbi?"  
"It might be a little longer – she's in surgery now." There can only be one reason for that … my heart breaks for her and Clint. They're taking me to her room as soon as she's out, I don't care how sick they say I am.

"Then … once she's better … I'll speak to Heimdall … the gate keeper. He might open it for us …"  
"It might work better if Thor went with you," he says.

"Thor?"

"He's been on Earth a while – we registered an Asgardian signature in London some time after the convergence event, and we have visual confirmation it's him. He tried to come to your aid during the fire but it was over so quickly, even he couldn't get there in time." If they had bothered to try to get help when it was still just a hostage situation, that wouldn't have been an issue.

"Right yes, definitely ask him," I say, managing to keep my voice flat. "He'd be a better voice in the Allfather's ear." I could stammer I meant Odin, but that will just sound suspicious. I'll wait to see if he notices – then he'll ask about it and I'll say that's what I heard Thor and the other Asgardians call him. Of course, he notices everything, but chooses not to comment – he just gives me a look. He knows I know more than I'm telling – and that's fine. "Tell him he has a niece on Earth – that'll draw him out. In the meantime … Send in Barton, please, if he's willing to wait with me."  
"Sure thing," he says evenly, his eye still boring into me. I don't even let it bother me – my worry threshold's already been hit, worrying over Bobbi. And Skye … Skye!

"Was Skye all right?" I ask. "I saw her collapse outside the barrier …" And I've heard talk of would-be mages and sorcerers dying of exhaustion after attempting magic that was too great for them.

"She appears to be fine," he answers, and takes note of the fact I don't ask him to send her in. There will be time enough to tell her everything later, and I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut if I saw her now, and Bobbi is the first priority.

* * *

Clint comes in, flustered like I expected. "Clint! I'm so sorry," I say, getting out of the bed to hug him. I think it's the first time I've ever called him by his first name to his face. It's my fault … Whoever did this was after me, and she was just a means to an end …

"Phil it's okay – she's fine, the baby's fine," he says quickly, knowing what I assumed. "The surgery is on her arm – they've got a hand surgeon and a microsurgeon making sure she doesn't lose any function …" I strangle him even harder in the hug, incredibly relieved he's still going to be a dad, and that my baby niece won't be disabled or suffer losing a baby because of me. A few tears of relief escape my eyes – it's the only good news I've gotten since … since I found out Bobbi was pregnant.

"Phil … are you okay?" he asks in a tone that says he's very disturbed by all this. After all, I've barely shown him any emotion ever since I've known him and now I'm sobbing on his shoulder. I'm just as disturbed by that as him.

"I'm fine. I just … I'm getting called out on assignment and I was afraid that … that I couldn't be there for her, again, if something …"  
"Phil, she's going to be fine," he says reassuringly, and this is so wrong and backwards. She's his wife, he shouldn't be comforting me. I get a hold of myself and wipe the tears from my eyes, and try to pretend that didn't just happen as I sit back on the bed.

"You've got an assignment so soon?" he asks skeptically – my whole body is shaking and I'm sure I look bad.

"Yeah … as soon as I get out of the hospital," I answer.

"Where to?"  
"Classified, level 7," I answer.

"I've got to get to level seven clearance," he says good-naturedly.

"When Fury forgets you landed a plane on the freeway," I say in an impression of Fury's answer every time Clint seeks higher clearance, forgetting for a moment I'm angry at everyone, and Clint laughs really a lot harder than that less-than-excellent impression probably warrants. I laugh too, and almost immediately start to cough again. Bobbi had to have breathed as much smoke as me – isn't that a complication on surgery? And then the worry comes back – I don't think I'll rest easy until Clint brings me good news.

Clint sits down in the chair by the bed. "I mean – are they even sure it's safe? How do they know there's not more wolves coming?"  
"They don't," I say. "I'll make sure the security detail stays in place for now."

"Once she gets out of surgery, I'll never leave her alone again," he promises breathlessly and puts his face in his hands, suddenly crumbling under the thought that it may not be over. I am going to find the person who did this, who got so many people killed and put my family through this much pain and … _Well I don't have teeth that sharp anymore, wolfie_, I think and once again push disturbingly violent urges to the back of my mind. This is going to get old really quickly.

"You'll be all right – I'm the one they're after. We know for sure it was meant for me and … well I can't say too much but they may be getting what they want. I'll be out in the open in their territory."

"Be careful, Coulson," he says urgently.

"When am I ever not careful?" I tease.

"When you're worried about your family," he answers. He's smarter than he lets on … more observant anyway. "Like I said … I won't ever leave her again. I'll take care of her." I can only nod.

"Thank you, Clint," I say.

We pass the time talking about baseball – it's the only innocuous topic we agree on. Every now and then I cough and bring up soot and God knows what else. A nurse comes in – I get excited and then it's only to check on me. "I'm fine," I insist even though I'm clearly not. She gets me some ice chips anyway – the cold stings on my raw throat, but ultimately the hydration is welcome.

A long hour drags by, then another nurse comes in, and asks, "Mr. Barton?"

"Yes, that's me," Clint says, standing up and looking nervous.

"The surgery appears to have been a success. We're taking your wife to recovery now – if you'll follow me, you can wait there for her to wake up."  
"Oh thank God!" Clint and I say together. Wait … am I … still allowed to say that? Given that my father …

"If I don't see you again before you're discharged, Phil … good luck and be careful," Clint says with a hand on my shoulder.

"Thanks. I'll do my best," I answer.

* * *

It's dark outside – I lie back and try to go to sleep without much success. Without Clint here, there's nothing to distract me from my thoughts. Ever since I woke up when I was ten-years-old … when Phillip's body was ten-years-old … I was really someone else …

My poor mother! Did she get to Heaven and find out I, I mean Phillip, was already there … Is there a Heaven after all?

I haven't been to Mass in several years, I haven't prayed as often as I should have, but I still believed. I still believed I was going to Heaven to join my parents and Emily some day, if I was lucky. Maybe after a few centuries in Purgatory, but eventually.

I don't know what to think about any of that now.

I think instead about my current life, and that's not any better. Knowing what's inside me opens so many new possibilities about who's after me and why. I did eat Tyr's hand – I feel sick remembering the taste of flesh – is he after me?

And then … I can't help but think about one thing … One horrible, horrible thing …

I flashback, as I so often have, to looking at Loki's spear as it came out of my chest, and then looking into his eyes as he stood over me. For the first time in months, this memory sends me into a panic attack – my chest and throat gets tight and I start to sweat all over. Tears fall unabated and I roll onto my side, wrapping my arms around myself. Did Father know who I was?! I don't want to believe it, but … he wasn't exactly showing me extraordinary amounts of kindness in the end.

Either way … the fact it was Father who did that to me is a horror I can barely fathom.

"Are you okay, sir?" a nurse asks when she comes in to check on me. I've managed to get myself under control, but I'm still turned on my side, staring into space and trying not to think about Father.

"I'm fine," I lie, and manage to give her a smile. "Just a little sore."

"Would you like some more ice?" she asks, noticing the cup that her coworker had brought earlier.

"Yes please," I say politely, managing to keep the sadness out of my face for a moment longer.

"I'll be right back, hon," she says kindly and shuts the door.

I've got to get a hold of myself and stop lying here feeling sorry for myself. I need a plan of action. I need objectives. I need to think.

The first objective is … tell Skye. Is she going to be okay with the news? She has family after all … me. Did I know, somehow? Is that why I was immediately drawn to her?

The first objective is to tell Skye. The second is to contact Unc … Thor … which given that Fury knows he's on Earth shouldn't be hard. He never responded to me with recognition, so I'm assuming he was unaware of my human identity – that gives me hope Father didn't know either. I'm going to play that close to the vest for the time being – I'll tell him about Skye and ask to accompany her to Asgard, and tell him about the wolves and what we suspect. I won't let him know all the details – but just enough to convince him to take us. It probably won't take much. Once I'm there, I contact Sigyn – I can be open with her, and she's enough of a scholar to help me, which leads into objective three. Use Asgardian resources to find out who sent the wolves, and collect other useful intel for S.H.I.E.L.D. Objective four is to find out as much as I can about the alien in the tank. There. That's not bad for general objectives … now I just need to go through the details.

I mentally rehearse telling Skye. I mentally rehearse my lies to Unc … Thor and to the All … Odin. To Father … to Loki if he's still alive.

This might be difficult.

* * *

**Author's Note**

With sincere apologies to Coulsky shippers. Unless you're into that in which case … you're welcome and please don't feel the need to thank me.

I am so sorry it has been so long since an update. I have no intention of abandoning the story but it is on hiatus for the meantime. See my profile for more details. 


End file.
